Every February
by BravoExpressions
Summary: Third in the 'holiday series' following 'Independence Day' and 'By Thanksgiving.' When the unexpected loss of Jinx puts Mary into a tailspin, she struggles with guilt and mourning her mother as well as a father who isn't there in her time of need. Will she open up to Marshall or keep it all inside? T for mild language.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hello friends! And a very happy holidays to you! I have been on break for almost a month now, and managed to whip out a story by burning the midnight oil! It is one I hung onto in my mind for months before I started writing it. It is the third tale in what I am now calling the 'holiday series,' which includes 'Independence Day' and 'By Thanksgiving.' So, that means Norah, Robyn, and Max are back – now with Alice in tow! I have shot four years into the future with the children aged ten, nine, six, and four. Mary and Marshall are married off as promised in 'By Thanksgiving' and now here they are.**

**If you read the story synopsis you know that I made a very sad decision for this story. Beloved Jinx (which may be subjective to some of you,) is going to leave us (not a spoiler if it's in the description!) I beg you will allow me some creative license in the way that she goes, but that is best left for later. I hope you enjoy the start!**

XXX

Mary absolutely detested being sick. For all the ordinary reasons, yes. She hated the debilitating coughs, the runny noses, and the watery – virtually leaking – eyelids. But, that was not the kind of 'sick' she possessed at this particular moment. This was the feverish, sweating yet chilling kind of ill that often prompted vomiting spells and persistent nausea even after losing your lunch. It reminded Mary all too well of the days she'd been pregnant with Norah and Alice, and such memories could sometimes be haunting.

Yes, Mary was certainly not fond of the actual physical concerns that came with being under-the-weather. But, it was more the mind-set that tagged along for the ride that truly irritated her. She did not relish the lethargic nature, the inability to want to act; the pressures to stay inside and sleep all day. It was not who she was, but being sick made it harder to fight such suggestions.

Especially when you were married to a man like Marshall.

Mary was reminiscent of this fact early Monday morning when her husband of four years propped her on the couch with about sixteen pillows, not to mention just as many blankets. A glass of Sprite was waiting nearby on the coffee table, fizzing and popping while it crackled against three perfect ice cubes. The effect against Mary's fuzzy lids was that of being submerged underwater; she felt like she was looking at the beverage through a fish bowl. She wondered in the rear of her mind if she'd even be able to keep the liquid down for more than two seconds.

"You doing all right in there?" Marshall called from where he was puttering around in the kitchen, tie loose at the neck.

From where she lay on her side, Mary could see him remove two pop-tarts from a box and shove them into the toaster. No sooner had he done so than he was off again, head in the fridge and pouring orange juice before she could blink. He was remarkably quiet for a man so busy, but she almost admired that about him.

"Mare?" he prompted when she didn't respond.

"Saying I'm fine wouldn't stop you from thinking otherwise," she quipped in a low voice, closing her eyes as her head began to pound with the effort of speaking. She _was_ doing better today, but ventured a guess her fever would probably hang on through at least mid-week.

Marshall bustled into the living room to join her, fastening the buttons on his cuffs. He looked particularly brontosaurus-like with the way he loomed above Mary's droopy form on the couch. He was cast in a very dull shadow; the sun was only beginning to peek its way through a mass of clouds outside the window. February, thus far, had been icy and extremely bleak.

"At least you ceased with the vomiting," Marshall sounded optimistic. "You didn't sneak off to the bathroom in the middle of the night and try to hide it from me, I hope."

Mary smirked through her pale complexion, "Yeah, 'cause I'm so good at getting stuff past you," she whispered. "Nope. I stopped puking around lunchtime yesterday. Guess that one's gone for good."

"Then you should be on the mend…" Marshall decided. He must've had a few minutes to spare before waking the girls, because he took a seat on the edge of the coffee table to look his wife in the eye. "I still want you to take it easy though," he cautioned. "You don't need a setback."

"Marshall, it's the flu," Mary groused with an irritable, early-morning huff. "Yeah, it's a bitch, but it'll go away eventually," she shifted a little more onto her middle as she said this. "We're just lucky Norah and Alice haven't caught it – even though I'm sure I contracted the thing from the little carriers anyway," she added as a grumpy afterthought.

"Elementary school is a virtual utopia for bacteria," Marshall dictated. "But I guess the Shannon sisters have the gut of steel. What do you think?" a little less poetic this time.

"Sure…" Mary whined with sarcasm. "Make me feel worse by telling me those two heathens can handle the virus better than yours truly."

Marshall just smiled at the way she was finally able to joke again. She'd been annoyed as hell the last few days, no question, but illness put a damper on even her acidity. She just hadn't had the energy but Marshall knew, just as Mary said; time would take care of the bug. He just hoped she didn't get stir crazy waiting for that day to finally arrive.

"Speaking of…" the woman continued. "You better get their asses out of bed, or they'll be late for school."

"Too right you are," he sang as he stood up, more than happy to do his duty as doting dad and step-dad. "Wouldn't miss a little rise and shine."

"'Rise,' maybe…" Mary slid in as he moseyed to the door down the hall. "You'll have to work a lot harder for 'shine.' Especially when it comes to Norah."

Marshall's chuckle was muffled as he sauntered further away from Mary in his quest to rouse the troops. It amazed her sometimes, that the four of them were able to stay in this house – three if you counted the nights Norah spent with Mark. It had seemed huge when she'd lived in it by herself, but now it bordered on very crowded.

Mary always got a twinge in her heart, wondering if ten-year-old Norah resented having to share a bunk bed with a preschooler hinging on four-and-a-half, but she didn't usually complain. The mother wondered how long that would last, considering Norah and Alice could sometimes be as catty as Mary and Brandi had been in their youth.

"Up and at 'em, my lovelies!" she heard Marshall bellow theatrically. "Another beautiful day!"

Squinting at the window beyond, Mary saw that this was a great exaggeration. The smallest sprinkling of sunlight was trying to inch through the throng of puffy, grey clouds. She could tell just by looking it was colder than death out there. She never appreciated the few months out of the year Albuquerque actually felt like winter.

As it was, she heard the older of the sisters respond, "You said that yesterday, and it wasn't true."

Mary was hard-pressed not to laugh, and not the least bit surprised to hear Alice counteract in her high-pitched voice, "Daddy wasn't wrong; he just guessed different!"

She should've known. In the eyes of his one and only daughter, Marshall never did anything wrong.

"You'll never know for sure until you step out the door," Marshall informed them. "Time to get cracking!" and he rapped on the wall once to emphasize his point before leaving them to their own devices.

He was halfway back to the kitchen when Mary heard the loud thump that meant the younger of her daughters had leapt from the top bunk. In actuality, she had probably just climbed part-way down the ladder and jumped the rest of the way. Alice was too much of scaredy cat to attempt a full-fledged bound.

Still in her purple pajamas with the cuffs, the little one raced out, nearly skidding on the hardwood in her socks. Her dark brunette locks fanned behind her, uncombed and matted from sleep. She did not even notice Mary all laid-up on the couch, but skittered to a halt right in front of Marshall, who was removing her pop-tart from the toaster.

"Morning, sugar…" the father greeted her. "Got your breakfast hot and ready."

"Do I _have_ to go to school today?" she asked; it was only preschool, but still. "Why can't I stay home with you?"

"Ah, Big Al…" Marshall sighed a little overdramatically, using the opportunity to take his daughter under her arms and lift her atop the counter. "You know I'm not staying home either. I have to go to work."

"You go to work _every_ day," Alice whined in her typical four-year-old way.

"Pays the bills, darlin'" was Marshall's response, and Mary saw him drop a kiss on her dark hair, smoothing the more pesky strands with his fingers. Unlike Norah's and Robyn's stick-straight blonde, Alice's had always been curly and much harder to tame. Mary had refused to let it get as long as the cousins' had in their youth, because it would've been beast to brush.

"Eat your pop-tart," Marshall instructed when Alice pouted, but she abided and took a bite, swinging her legs and knocking them into the cabinets below. "Watch the noise…" he said upon hearing this. "Mommy's still not feeling very good."

Alice spared Mary the smallest of glances, as though to confirm her father's words, and Mary waved her fingers, but it made no difference. As far as Alice was concerned, there was no Mary if she had Marshall sitting right there.

"So, _she_ gets to stay home," Alice figured, and Mary could practically hear the wheels spinning in her child's brain of how to work this to her advantage.

"She is ill," Marshall stated calmly, retrieving Norah's breakfast and setting the steaming treat on a napkin. "Besides, you know come sick or well that I always have to go to the office."

"'Cause you're the boss. Right, daddy?" Alice murmured, blinking her eyelashes coyly.

"The one and only," Marshall played his role to a T, milking it for all it was worth. To get off this subject and not stray too dangerously into 'Marshal' territory, he veered, "Where's your sister? Her pop-tart is going to be cold."

"_She_ wasn't up when I came out," Alice tattled obnoxiously. "I can't get dressed 'till she does."

In the back of her foggy mind, Mary reflected that Alice could barely dress herself whether the bedroom was occupied or not. She was a terror when it came to matching her clothes, and often put her socks on the wrong feet, something Mary didn't even know was possible. Even after four years, she still had trouble getting used to a child who relied so heavily on others. Norah had been so unique with her unrivaled independence – still was.

"Well, I would advise you think _very_ hard about what to put on," Marshall narrowed his brows, and even from her spot on the couch, Mary could picture Alice mimicking him in deep contemplation. "So when Norah does emerge, you will be quite the speedy little fashionista."

Mary rolled her eyes upon hearing this, fully intending to tell Marshall not to put such ideas in her daughter's head. But, Alice kind of did the job for her.

"Robyn is the fashionista," she declared. "That's what Brandi says."

"Far be it from me to take that title away from her," Marshall shook his head. "My mistake."

With that, Mary shifted further into her many pillows, closing her eyes and rotating onto her back. It was one of the few mornings she was grateful that Alice was so attached to Marshall. Sometimes, it bothered her more than she cared to admit, but today she was just glad she had the opportunity to catch up on stamina. In any case, she reminded herself many a time that Marshall had Alice, and she had Norah. That was all there was to it; it was natural for children to be closer to one parent.

Ten minutes later, and with many insinuations that Alice was going to devour Norah's pop-tart if she didn't hurry up, the elder emerged. She was wearing jeans and a red sweatshirt, her shoulder-length blonde streaks tied in a low ponytail.

"Hey champ," Marshall greeted her from his spot at the counter. "All finished?"

"I guess…" Norah shrugged. "You can go," she nodded at Alice.

"That's our cue, sugar…" Marshall declared, and without waiting for approval, he lifted Alice into his arms, where she immediately wound her legs around his waist. To Mary, "We are off to find attire."

"Keep me posted…" the woman muttered, as if she especially cared.

Marshall and Alice made their exit as promised, and Norah ventured her way into the kitchen to collect her breakfast and orange juice. Proving how differently she treated her oldest daughter, Mary raised her head a fraction of an inch to greet her, something she had not done with Alice. She rarely did, knowing she was too occupied with her father.

"Hey Bug…" she croaked. "Happy Monday," a swallow.

"Yeah," Norah laughed, bringing her pop-tart and drink to the couch, where she took a seat on the coffee table. "I already heard Alice moaning about how she doesn't want to go."

"Give her a break…" Mary suggested, leaning onto her side once more. "She's little."

"Is that what Jinx used to say to you when Brandi drove you crazy?" she asked, munching on her pop-tart.

"Nah…" Mary was truthful, unexpectedly grateful for the company. "Hers was more along the lines of, 'Your sister loves you; can't you see that!'" she put on a falsetto to sound more like her mother, but it came out rather murky thanks to her bedraggled quality.

Norah started chuckling, "Yeah, that sounds more like Jinx." She took a long dreg of her orange juice and went on, "You still sick?"

Mary fed her a face of mock-annoyance, "Seriously, Bug?" she huffed as well as she was able. "You trying to tell me something? That I sit on my ass every day of the year and you can't recognize the difference?"

Norah laughed again hearing Mary swear; when her child was younger, she used to try and put a lid on such things. But, Mark slipped up with that particular word so often it really made no difference anymore. As it was, she just tried to limit 'Jesus' whenever possible.

"I just _wondered_," Norah claimed. "I mean, since you're a part-time inspector, and not full-time like Marshall."

"Don't remind me," Mary grumped. "And hey, you're demoting dear old step-dad. He's chief."

"Well, whatever," Norah shrugged.

Despite making it sound like Mary had pulled rank, she'd actually moved up a few rungs in the last few years. She'd taken almost complete leave from the service after she'd gotten pregnant with Alice, bolstered only by the fact that Marshall was in fact chief and would not acquire a new partner. Delia and Charlie were in that build now. But, since Alice had started school she'd started weaning herself back into the fold. Since the girls were still young, she was able to bounce between WITSEC and home whenever time permitted. She felt better knowing Marshall had the most important bases covered.

"Yes, I'm still sick…" Mary finally answered the question as all of this coursed through her mind. "But improving. No more barf, so at least you can stand to be around me now."

"You _would_ talk about puking while I'm trying to eat," Norah joked, her quick wit becoming more prevalent as she grew older. "I could spew my pop-tart. That'd be gross," the tomboy that still lived within seemed energized by the prospect; the nastier, the better.

"Get your bag…" Mary nudged her daughter with her foot, catching the cuff of her jeans. "Marshall's taking you two; you can't make him late."

"Yeah-yeah…" Norah sounded irritated, but she smirked nonetheless and stood to take her dishes and dirty napkin back to the kitchen.

She had just deposited the remains of her breakfast in the sink when a bang sounded from down the hall, so loud it made Mary jump. But, she knew she had no reason to worry when Marshall bounded out, trailing Alice on his hand.

"Record time!" he breathed excitedly, screeching to a halt so fast that Alice almost fell over when she tried to hang onto his fingers. "I bet Alice she couldn't get dressed in under two minutes," he revealed. "Proved me wrong, she did!"

Alice grinned adoringly, but she was as uneven as ever. She wore blue leggings printed with white polka dots, topped off with an orange and pink striped shirt. The contrast was glaring, but Mary knew Marshall was just glad to have shooed her along. They cut the time very close on occasion when the four-year-old couldn't make a decision.

Norah snorted as she finished the last of her juice, "They'll see you coming with that get-up."

"Like _yours_ is any better!" Alice retorted, sticking a hand on her hip. "_You_ look like a _boy_."

"Better a boy than a clown," Norah muttered, but Mary had heard enough.

"You all are really working to make me lose last night's dinner," the mother interjected in as sharp a tone as she could muster in her state. "Cut it out."

"Do cease fire, ladies," Marshall requested, much more magnanimously than his wife. "I don't have time to pull you apart this A.M."

Norah abided, but Alice continued to glower, always put-out when her insults didn't have much effect on her elder sister. Norah had a much thicker skin, and was often undeterred by whatever offenses came her way. Alice was far more emotional, and would frequently cry if her feelings were crushed too severely. This happened most often at school, however. Norah usually stuck to minimal sniping to annoy, rather than hurt.

This time, she even went the extra-mile, perhaps trying to make up for exerting her unwell mother.

"Come on, Alice," she beckoned with her finger. "I'll get your coat off the hook," she was too short to reach.

Alice reluctantly relinquished Marshall's hand and followed Norah to the door. Mary heard them chit-chatting about nothing in particular while they fastened buttons and shouldered backpacks. Content to have them busy, Marshall turned his attentions to Mary, settling himself in Norah's vacated spot on the coffee table in front of weary eyes.

"You sure you'll be all right for the day?" he asked skeptically. "I've been within driving distance for the last week in case you needed anything, but today…"

Mary shook her head side-to-side on the pillow, "I'll be fine," she insisted. "The worst is over. I just need to bulk up so I can get back to work."

"But, if you were to need anything…" Marshall tried to explain where he'd been headed before. "I mean, I'm going to be all the way out in Taos," he reminded her. "…Getting that junkie from last week settled. It's almost three hours…"

"I'm well aware," Mary even elbowed up, so as to seem fitter and more capable. "I'll survive. You'll be back tonight, right?"

"Around seven if I'm lucky," Marshall confirmed. "But, I just…"

"Marshall, come on," Mary was forced to really shoot him down this time. "I can take care of myself; I'm a big girl. Mark's gonna drop by around eleven before he heads to work; he's bringing me lunch," she just hoped she'd be able to eat it.

"You're sure?" Marshall seemed surprised by this development, but a little boosted. "You talk to him last night?"

"Yes…" Mary was definitely getting a little peeved and hoped to ward him away. "He said he had something that he needed to talk to me about," having no clue what that was. "He'll be here. So, I'll have a nursemaid after all," she fed him an aggravated smirk.

"Okay…"

Her man still sounded doubtful, but he did stand up. He also knew it was time they put the WITSEC discussions to an end now that the girls had stopped jabbering, and were more likely to hear. Marshall chanced a glance their direction before conceding defeat.

"I can call Jinx and get her to look in on you," one last, brave attempt.

"No…" Mary shook her head firmly. "Not Jinx. She hasn't been feeling so hot either."

Marshall frowned from above, "Same virus?"

"I don't know what it is…" Mary murmured vaguely, no interest in such a conversation. "She's been talking about these dizzy spells she's been having. She probably caught some other flu from those swans she works with."

Marshall chortled at this, "Well, at any rate," he concluded. "Call Charlie if you change your mind. Delia will be with me; I don't know if our cells will pick up the signal way out there."

"Copy that," Mary placated him with a reminiscent smile at the old phrase sneaking through. "Be careful, doofus."

She distinctly heard Alice giggle at the less-than-flattering nickname being used, but everyone was used to it by now. It was routine. Marshall smiled as well and craned his neck to place a light kiss on her sweaty brow.

"Take it easy," he advised. "I'll see you tonight."

"Yes, master…" Mary mused.

Marshall pretended not to have heard and made his way to the door where the girls were waiting to leave. Mary couldn't see them from where she was stationed, but she picked up a few voices before they departed.

"Norah, where's your coat?" Marshall posed.

"I don't need it," she insisted. "I have a sweatshirt."

"You'll be cold…" the man warned.

Norah was probably shrugging, "No big deal."

Mary couldn't stop herself from grinning at her daughter's ritual habits; she always claimed she didn't need a coat – or a hat, or mittens, or anything that might keep her warm. Sometimes, her mother disagreed but she knew she had to choose her battles. Marshall had learned as much very early on; it was Mark who still tried to be the disciplinarian when it came to small struggles.

"Say goodbye to mom, you two…" Marshall instructed.

Mary heard nothing from Alice, but she did hear the front door open, and she felt the bitter gust of wind that swept through the house. She wasn't sure what happened next, because Norah's face appeared before her own a second time. Her brown eyes were somewhere between pleased and resigned. She was a generally happy kid, but it was Monday morning and school wasn't where she wanted to go.

"Bye mom…" she said kindly. "You said dad's going to bring you lunch?"

"Yes, Bug…" Mary sighed. "Don't worry about me, and get to school," she worked some of her old sarcasm in there, never truly able to forget that despite Norah's toughness, she still had a compassionate streak that lingered in the wings.

"Okay," she agreed this time. "See you later."

Mary reciprocated her farewells, and expected to Alice follow suit, but she must've already jumped onto the stoop. Marshall was repeating his direction.

"Alice!" he called through the chill. "Don't leave without saying goodbye to mommy!"

Mary wanted to tell him it was not worth the effort if the youngest was already on her way. But, she knew he did what he did because he didn't want Mary to feel like second-best in the eyes of their child. It was no secret, though. She preferred Marshall; she always had.

Nonetheless, Mary heard the thumping that meant Alice had returned. She caught only the briefest glimpse of the little one's face – of her shimmering blue eyes – before she swept out of sight again.

"Bye mommy!" And then, "Come on, daddy!"

Mary whispered her bon voyage, "Have a good day, Little Bit."

Mary was the only one who called her that – Little Bit. It fit right in with 'Bug' and 'Babe' for Robyn, even though Max had always been left behind, possessing only 'Moppet' from his shaggy-haired infancy. But, Alice scarcely seemed to notice the nickname. She was pulling on Marshall's hand, trying to edge him along.

"Love you…" he expressed with a sheepish smile.

Alice yanked him out of the door so fast, Mary didn't have time to spare for a heartfelt, 'I love you too.'

XXX

**A/N: You know me – I start with a lot of 'calm before the storm' type chapters; I don't want to drop a blow right at the onset. I would ask you to please review and tell me what you think, but I have been absolutely dreadful about reviewing all of you that I don't know if I deserve it! Forgive me and please stay tuned tomorrow!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank-you so much for the early reviews! The happiness doesn't last, unfortunately; I don't waste any time…**

XXX

The morning was so boring, Mary thought certain she would lose all her marbles before noon. She was not at all accustomed to being in the house by herself with nothing to work on. Even when she hadn't been in the office as much when she'd been carrying Alice, she'd always had paperwork to catch up on. These days, her job was fairly off-the-cuff and, in any case, it wasn't right to be alone in her home with no children. It made her feel like something was off.

Prior to gloomy Monday, Mary had felt so poorly it didn't really matter whether she had anything to do. Her physical state was too run-down to attempt much. But today, all gaining ground meant was that she had little to amuse herself with, and it was making her grouchy.

She stayed on the couch, per Marshall's request, and read all of his cooking magazines, which about put her to sleep. She then ventured to the newspaper, but the print on her fingers made her feel dirty and she already felt as such with her fever, and so she stopped. Surfing the web quickly became tiresome, and she was thrilled when her phone rang around 10:45. Looking at the display, she saw that it was Lia, Stan's wife of two years and counting.

"Hey, Mrs. McQueen…" she greeted the other woman, snuggling into her blankets a little further with a chill. "Haven't gotten fed-up with the old warhorse yet, have you?"

Lia laughed throatily, "You sound unusually cheerful this morning, Mary," she observed. "Might I ask what is causing your good mood?"

Mary supposed she did sound a little stimulated, but she was so pleased to have something to do. That was probably why, but it didn't make a very good answer.

"I'm laid-up, actually…" she found herself revealing. "I caught a wicked flu last week, but it's finally going away. Marshall's still got me quarantined though," she continued. "You saved my ass by calling."

"Oh, I am so happy to be of help," Lia decided benevolently. "But sorry to hear you are under-the-weather. Should Stanley and I postpone our trip?"

"No…" Mary refuted this at once, knowing it was a rare bout of fortune indeed that got both Stan and Lia back to New Mexico in the wintertime. August was usually their route to go, even after Lia had moved to Washington three years prior. "Come on. You know how much you have to pay to get a return on airline tickets?"

"Is that your only concern, Mary?" Lia was teasing, she could tell. "If we are only coming because we have frequent flier miles, then all the more reason to hold-off if you don't wish to catch up…"

"Man, my sarcasm's rubbing off on you," Mary slid in neatly. "Or, is that Stan's influence? You used to be such a philosophical gal," she mulled on that. "Look at what us Marshals have done to you."

"Don't flatter yourself," Lia said with more kindness than most through the speaker. "I have always had a feisty side."

Mary believed that one; she imagined it must be true when you taught such passionate, fervor-inducing dances. You had to ramp yourself up for that kind of thing, but Mary still worried from time-to-time if Stan would lose his no-nonsense attitude in favor of some Broadway-like gig. The little girl who hated change still lived deep inside Mary's soul.

"So…you fly out Wednesday, is that right?" the ill one proposed to alter the subject matter. "Do you need a ride to the hotel?"

"I think Stanley may have already enlisted Delia," Lia informed her swiftly. "But he wanted me to check and see if you're up for handshakes – as he put it – that evening. Would you rather wait until Thursday before saying hello?" she went on. "I know how busy Marshall is, and with you sick…" she wasn't giving Mary a chance to respond. "Plus, I know Stanley wants to see the girls, and if Norah is with your Mark…"

"Geez, you really are trying to get out of this the minute you step off the plane," Mary jabbed at her run-on. She was so endeared to the ways she was being given an out, that she didn't notice Lia tack 'your' onto the word 'Mark.' "Thursday might be better, though," she conceded. "I'll check with Marshall."

"It's a deal," Lia was always one to go with the flow. "How are the girls, anyway?" she shifted.

Mary sat up a little more in her pillows, making sure to keep the blanket well-round her shoulders. She was also careful not to kick the half-drunk glass of Sprite when she tucked her legs underneath her. Having someone to speak to was ratcheting her energy. She hadn't realized until this moment how much she did thrive on human interaction these days.

"They're fine," she replied. "Norah's ready for fifth grade already – says she's 'over' fourth. But, I know she just wants to be top dog in that school," the mother assumed. "She wants that almost as much as Alice wants to go to kindergarten, but she'll have to wait another year."

"Since she won't turn five until Thanksgiving, right?" Lia guessed.

"Yeah," Mary agreed. "Kid cracks me up. She complains about daycare every morning, but can hardly contain her excitement about 'big girl' school," she wrinkled her nose at having to use the phrase. "That's what Robyn tells her it is."

"Ah, and my little drama queen…?" Lia inquired hungrily, a sense of pride in her voice. "Set the town on fire, yet?"

"Give it time," Mary muttered. "She'll get there. Last I heard, Brandi was begging her to get a haircut, but she won't budge. It's all tattered right now; she looks homeless like Max did when he was a baby."

It barely registered with Mary that, with three girls and only one boy, curious friends and family members only thought to ask about 'the girls.' It meant Max rarely got a nod. At only six, he was being shuffled into the woodwork at lightning speed.

"She is a girl who knows what she wants," Lia admitted. "She'll grow out of some of that stubbornness."

"Well, some of us weren't that lucky," Mary couldn't resist pointing out, thinking of herself. "Brandi's working on it, though."

At that moment, her cell began its telltale beep in her ear, meaning she had an incoming call. She wasn't much in the mood to let Lia go, but when she glanced at the screen, she didn't recognize the number. This meant it might be Marshall out on his little WITSEC adventure trying to check in. If she didn't answer, he would think something was wrong.

"I've gotta jet…" she told Lia once she had the cell back to her ear. "I think Marshall's calling. See you soon?"

"You bet," Lia declared. "I'll tell Stanley you say hello," there was a hint of mocking in her tone that reminded Mary had not said as much on her own, but she could take it.

Mary sent her a quick, "Bye…" before hitting the appropriate buttons to transfer and switched to a more businesslike tone, "This is Mary," just in case it wasn't Marshall.

There was a momentary pause, but Mary could hear some sort of rustling going on-on the other end, and so she waited as patiently as possible. It sounded like papers being shuffled, but then there was a breath, and eventually a voice.

"Yes, hello…" it was a man, making an attempt to appear self-assured, but Mary still caught the harassed air that snuck its way through. "Is this…?" more crackling. "Is this Mary Shannon?"

"Yes," Mary responded, wondering if it was some witness whose tone she couldn't place. "Can I help you?"

There was another exhale through the speaker. If it was a witness, they certainly fancied themselves in a bout of trouble, Mary thought. If it wasn't, it was someone rather inept at their job when it came to speaking over the phone.

"Miss Shannon…"

"Misses," Mary was forced to correct him before he could get started. She had not taken Marshall's name for job-related purposes, but she kept the married title. "Mrs. Shannon."

"Right, of course," the man suddenly turned soft in his harried nature. "Mrs. Shannon – you're Jinx Shannon's daughter?"

This time she found herself gulping, "Yes."

Several different alarms went off in Mary's brain, and none of them inspired confidence. All these years later, it was still incredible how she jumped to worst-case scenario. She tried not to completely give-in right away, but the familiar acronyms swirled faster than she could blink.

DUI? Well, _probably_ not. Her mother had been sober for nearly twelve years.

IRS? Possible, but not likely. Her mother had held a steady job about as long as she'd been sober.

FBI?

Wait. That was her father, not Jinx.

Before Mary could voice any of these concerns, the man on the other end had already launched into what sounded like a rather prepared speech. It was as though he'd done it many times before; he was just changing the words and phrases to suit her situation. She listened with great dubiousness, not able to glean anything from each passing word.

"Mrs. Shannon, I'm afraid I am calling with some bad news," he reported steadily. "My name is Roger Milton; I'm a doctor at Mountain View Regional Medical Center."

Mary wanted to ask what kind of doctor, but found she couldn't. She wanted too badly to hear where this was headed, and interrupting would delay it.

"Paramedics received a call this morning from Jinx Shannon's address…" he went on. "It seems when she didn't show up to work, people were concerned and a friend went by to check on her."

Why wouldn't Jinx go to work? Mary wondered. It wasn't computing; it wasn't adding up. She'd had tons of dead-end jobs she had hated, but she loved teaching at the studio. There was no reason for her to stay home and not tell anyone why. She wouldn't just _not_ show up.

That was the old Jinx, right? She hadn't fallen off the wagon. That wasn't why.

Doctor Milton continued as evenly as he'd begun, "The friend – a Mrs. Cara Henderson – went to your mother's place…" Mary didn't know who that was, and she didn't care; because it was the next portion that sent ice flooding into her veins. "And she found her unconscious."

Mary tried to breathe. He'd said it was bad – yes. It sounded as such – true. So, her mother might be hitting the bottle again. There was no telling why, but they'd dealt with it once, they could deal with it again. Silently, she cursed her mother for getting herself into this kind of trouble after all that work. So much for AA.

"Unconscious," Mary repeated in an attempt to seem rational.

He didn't allow her to finish, "Yes," he affirmed. "Once we got her to the hospital, we were able to assess what might've caused her to pass out. It seems she has been suffering from a very severe case of liver failure."

Mary swallowed, just trying to process this. She was beginning to feel a little hot with all her blankets and pillows. So, Jinx wasn't _necessarily_ drinking again. But, it had caught up with her. She might've known it would. She'd had a witness who had fallen into the same trap; he'd been clean too, and it hadn't mattered.

Well, they could work with that just as well. She told herself as much while she listened further.

"Symptoms of liver failure range widely – loss of appetite, swelling, dizziness…"

"Dizziness?" Mary cut in, her memory jogged to life by the word. "Jinx has been feeling a little off-her-balance lately; I thought she had the flu," she hurried to explain. "Did…did she tell you that too?" the woman was insistent. "Sometimes she doesn't know what to share and what to keep to herself," she was thinking of the times Jinx had-had to deal with police.

There was a pause. A pause that lasted far too long. It stretched into seconds, maybe even into minutes. Mary did not know how long she sat there; waiting for him to tell her that Jinx had spoken up and pleaded her case. To tell her that her mother was weak, but was coming around and would be just fine once they had her stabilized. He would be explaining any second now. He might even put her on the phone.

It was only when he started speaking again that Mary realized this was not what she was about to be told. Her heart started to pound. She'd been here; she'd been here before and it was every old nightmare she'd had about James rushing back to the forefront. She tried, desperately, to channel her inner Marshall.

Stay calm. Stay calm.

"Mrs. Shannon…" his voice had altered to sympathetic, and it ripped Mary in two. "This was a case of acute liver failure – rare, but rapidly-spreading…"

What did this matter? Why was he telling her this? She didn't care.

"And?"

"Mrs. Henderson called paramedics, but I'm afraid Jinx had gone untreated for too long and was on her last leg with having passed-out…"

Last leg?

"She was pronounced dead at the scene. I'm terribly sorry."

Mary thought she might scream. Every instinct in her body was telling her to do so; to holler at this quack for having the gall to say such a thing over the phone. She felt like a five-year-old, begging him to take it back. But, something in her brain wasn't working. She couldn't shout or accuse anyone of anything, because she was blank except for those two little words that had just turned her world upside-down.

Jinx. Dead.

She sat there moronically with the phone hanging slack in her fingers, wide-eyed and lost. He was chattering something in her ear about what had gone wrong – why things had gone south so quickly, but she couldn't hear him. The longer he elucidated, the faster her pulse hammered against her skin. She was breathing very quickly, just trying to remember she was alive, but everything was jammed. She couldn't move; she couldn't speak.

"Would you like to have someone call later for details?"

It was the first thing Mary registered since he'd broken the news, and it seemed logical. Somehow, she found it in her to agree.

"Yeah," her voice was so husky the word almost didn't come at all. She wasn't even sure it was her that had said it.

"That's fine," Doctor Milton reassured her. "Again, I'm very sorry for your loss."

He hung up before Mary did. She must've sat there for minutes with the cell, unable to calculate the fact that he was already gone. When she finally let go and removed the phone to the coffee table, all she could do was stare into oblivion. Her eyes were glassed over; she saw the kitchen, but really did not see it all at once. Her breathing grew even faster than it had when she'd been trying to keep it together with the doctor. It sounded so loud in the otherwise silent house.

The tears came next. They felt very obligatory because they were only trickles, dampening her already moisture-ridden cheeks. She was working so hard just trying to keep drawing air that she scarcely noticed anyway. If she didn't move, if she continued to breathe, this would go away.

That was what Marshall always told her – to breathe. He was always telling her to breathe.

But, in this case it just made Mary even more agitated, wondering why her mind could not catch up with her emotions. She was startled back to the real world with a loud bang that meant the front door had sprung open. She leapt so badly with the occurrence that she started shaking as she came down off the wave.

Mark was striding in with a white paper sack and a boyish smile.

"Hey Mare!" he called buoyantly. "I picked you up some soup from that noodle place you love – as promised," he added. "I get points for that, right?"

She was too confused and too lost to respond to his jokes. She was numb from head-to-toe; even the gentle peck he laid on her temple didn't rouse her. It wasn't until he had deposited her lunch on the coffee table and leaned for a peek into her eyes that he realized she was not right.

"Mare?" he prompted, casual at first. "Are you okay?"

Mark's face loomed in front of hers like she was looking through glass. She couldn't reach the other side, because going to the other side meant revealing what she had just learned, and she couldn't do that. She couldn't make the jump.

Unfortunately, Mark was too smart for his own good – and much smarter than Mary gave him credit for. Thinking her watery eyes had to do with her fever, he felt her forehead, which also meant he felt her tearstained cheeks. He was no longer fooled.

"Are you crying?" he probed unabashedly. "What's the matter?"

It was going to come faster than she was ready for it. She actually stood up, thinking absurdly that this might ward off the feeling of complete terror overtaking her body. It made Mark back up, but he was becoming more concerned by the second. Mary wanted to tell him to stop looking like that, because he was going to make her spill and she wasn't ready.

The same phrase was thudding into her mind, making it impossible to forget.

Jinx is dead. Jinx is dead. Jinx is dead.

She couldn't hold it in; the sorrow was too strong, "Jinx is _dead_!"

It came flying out of her mouth without warning, and the tears spilled from her eyes. Her hands went to her lids and she sobbed into them, only dimly registering the shock on Mark's face, his brown eyes suddenly horrified.

"_What_?" he hissed, trying to take her arm so she would look at him, but she didn't allow it. "What are you talking about?"

Now that it was out, she burst through the floodgates once more, "She's _dead_!" the words were murky and painful. "She collapsed this morning; her liver failed. She was gone before they even got there!"

"Who told you this?" Mark wanted to know, still pulling on her elbow. "Why were you just sitting here alone? Where's Marshall?"

There were too many questions, and if Mary had been coherent, she would've realized they were all laced with compassion, but she didn't have it in her to answer. She only got one of them covered before descending all over again.

"The hospital called me…"

Now Mark sighed, accepting her tragedy as fact. Mary finally stopped resisting his attempts to get her to open up and she just fell – crumpled into his arms. He caught her quite swiftly, running a hand up and down her back while she drenched his shirt. It was a work shirt, one with buttons. It made her hurt to ruin it.

"Oh, Mare…" he whispered in a quiet voice.

He obviously did not know what to say other than that, so he stuck to patting and gave her shoulder a rough squeeze. He could clearly feel the heat radiating from her feverish body as well, and didn't hesitate to note she had been bestowed with more than one anomaly this morning.

"And you're so sick, too…" he breathed sympathetically.

It was this, of all things, that truly broke her down. There, with her face pressed into Mark's chest, hands gripping his back, she didn't simply _want_ her mother. She _needed_ her mother. She was sick; she'd been throwing up not twenty-four hours before. She had to have her; it was what mothers were supposed to do when their babies were ill. They took care of them; nursed them back to health.

The fact that she could not have this made Mary's heart shatter into tiny little pieces; shards that expelled as misty letters.

"I don't feel good…" she blubbered childishly, hating herself for it but wanting Mark to understand just the same.

She wasn't sure he did, but he tried, "I know you don't," he stated it like it was obvious, choosing not to foist losing her mother into illness all at once. "You're all hot, kid. I can tell."

Any other day, any other time, there would've been laughs to be had at Mark uttering such a double entendre. But, he was intelligent enough to avoid it this time; perhaps he hadn't even picked up on it. Mary was still uncharacteristically desperate to make him see what she meant; she required a mother. He couldn't possibly be grasping how much it hurt not to be able to reach her – the one time she yearned for Jinx, and she wasn't here.

"I need Jinx…" she managed, voice muffled between the tears and Mark's shirt. "I need Jinx; she's supposed to take care of me…"

It was repulsive, how juvenile she was being, but the desire was that powerful. It was pulling Mary in; crushing her bones and cracking her heart because she knew she couldn't have it. But Mark, by the grace of God, finally got with it.

"Because you're sick?" he ventured quietly, rubbing smooth little rotations on her back now.

Mary could only nod, and the faster she nodded, the faster the tears began to fall. Mark could undoubtedly hear the way she was wracking now, and worked as well as he knew how to make even part of this fear go away.

"Does Marshall know?" he asked unobtrusively, still allowing his ex to submerge herself against him. He couldn't remember the last time she'd allowed him to hold her this close for such an extended period. It was probably when Norah had gone missing.

The nodding switched to shaking, which gave Mark his response.

"Do you want me to call him?"

"You can't…" this realization came quicker. "He's out-of-area."

"Surely there must be somebody, Mare…" he rationalized. With this, he made to pull away and Mary did let him, sniffling audibly and mopping at her eyes. Neither made any difference because she continued to cry and get stuffed and watery all over again. "I know it gets kind of funky with your job, but give me a number so I can reach him…" he was almost pleading. "I promise; I won't ask any questions."

Mary knew he was trying to be accommodating, and helpful in spades, but her Marshal-mind never went completely off. It would blow protocol out of the water to give an ordinary citizen a WITSEC number. But, Mark couldn't understand that, even if it wasn't his fault.

"You can't…" she repeated, feeling weak in the knees without Mark to anchor her. "He'll be back tonight."

Agonizing. Tonight was an eternity away.

"Then I'll stay until he gets here," Mark offered at once. "I'll cancel my appointment and field the girls after school."

Mary's sorrow vanished for only a split second to revel in the fact of what a kind and generous gesture this was. She was lucky, very lucky, to have someone like Mark. Unfortunately, sentiment invading on this day of all days only made her weep in full as she contemplated everything ahead. But, even that vanished at the drop of a hat when she let herself think that terrible phrase time and time again.

Jinx was dead.

"I'm not hungry."

What a ridiculous thing to say. She'd eyed the sack on the coffee table. Mark, however, took it in stride. He kissed one of her slick cheeks and patted her hair.

"That's okay."

Mary let out a shuddering sigh at his understanding, but almost as quickly as she'd had a moment of peace, she realized who the hospital might be calling next. Dread seeped into her core at the thought, at the mere mention.

"Brandi doesn't know…" she sunk onto the couch at this, and Mark was speedy in sitting beside her. "I don't want to tell Brandi…"

It was the very _last_ thing she wanted to do, outside of telling the kids. She couldn't even imagine, if she was this bad off, how Brandi was going to react. It was a catastrophe in every sense of the word.

Mark began to caress her arm lightly, "That doesn't have to be your job," he reminded her. "I can take care of it." Mary fed him a befuddled look before he went on, "I'll call Peter and give him the news. He can break it to Brandi."

It was so bright of him, Mary thought. She was so grateful she didn't have time to be floored. Mark was also undoubtedly unsure what to do with himself now that he'd promised to stay, but not one inkling of it showed on his face. He was as bound and determined as Mary had ever seen him.

"Come on, Mare…" he indicated his chest a second time. "Come here. Rest."

She couldn't resist, really. He wasn't Marshall, but he was somebody. He was her piece of Norah at the moment. And as she slumped inside his comforting grasp, tears still draining down her face, Mary reflected that there really was no better alternative right now.

After all, she was a sick little girl. And she had no mother to kiss it and make it better.

XXX

**A/N: Be prepared for the roller-coaster, I suppose! Again, I hope you will allow me some creative license in how I dealt with Jinx's death. I knew I didn't want it to be something senseless and tragic (like a car accident, for example.) But, I also didn't want some long and drawn-out hospital sequence, because I never envisioned the story that way. While I imagine it is pretty unrealistic for people to just drop dead of liver failure, I suppose it could happen, right? Whenever I am not sure about something medical (even though I do look stuff up,) I just try to be vague and move on. I beg for your understanding!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank-you so much for the support! This one isn't very long, but essential in its own way.**

XXX

It was much too cold to be consorting with witnesses outdoors, Marshall thought. He, much like Mary, did not think this was the most opportune time of year. The wind was icy, and there was no excess warmth when the sun refused to come out. He stood in the middle of a very barren expanse of brown grass, trying to keep his scarf from whipping around his neck. Delia was nearby, looking at blueprints, and a team of Marshals located in Taos were prepping their charge.

Marshall had never had a witness that wanted to build his own house, but they'd found a good spot and, in any case, it would get the cocky guy off Marshall's radar for awhile. He didn't intend to let him pull out all the bells and whistles, though. Absolutely not. He was the chief for a reason.

"No…floor-to-ceiling windows are a safety concern…" Delia was saying as Marshall made his way through the crunchy grass. "You could have one up here and another down here…" she was explaining to the man's brother, who had come into the program with him.

"I'll ask him," the brother responded, and went on his merry way to do so, presumably.

As Marshall approached and they were out of earshot of the men, Delia didn't hesitate to roll her eyes at the way they were having to cater to these two. But, the man who had seen the crime was a Ronnie-Dallenberdt type; obnoxiously pompous, but highly useful in the eyes of the US government.

"Boy, I'll be glad when Taos PD is able to take care of this pair…" Delia jerked her head the indicated direction. "They can build their mansion so long as it gets them out of the way."

"You're speaking my language, inspector," Marshall agreed, sounding so much like Stan had in his heyday, it was scary.

At that moment, Marshall heard what was unmistakably the sound of a vibrating cell phone. But, since he was not feeling the throb, he guessed it must be Delia's. And, sure enough, she slipped gloved fingers in her pocket in order to retrieve it.

"The office…" Delia reported. "Kind of surprised they managed to get us out here."

"That high-tech number you've got must pick up a few more signals," Marshall pointed to Delia's swanky phone; he'd known his wouldn't have a prayer, which was why he'd given very explicit instructions to Mary.

"Let's hope so," Delia conceded, and then finally picked up. "Inspector Parmalee." She covered her mouthpiece momentarily with her hand to relay to Marshall, "It's Charlie."

He'd figured as much, and waited patiently through the cold, shifting back and forth from foot-to-foot trying to keep warm. Delia wasn't on long before she was already letting go and offering the digits to her boss.

"Says it's for you," she informed him. "You were right; he wasn't able to get anything on your cell." She pointed to the less-than-dynamic duo in the field beyond, "I'm gonna get back…"

"No problem," Marshall nodded, and Delia rolled up her blueprints, striding on her heels through the tall grass.

She was a good employee; Marshall had always thought as much. She respected Marshall as an authority figure even though he had once been her equal. She never said no, but was always careful to speak up if she had a different idea. She and Charlie made a pair of quirky, but nonetheless highly successful partners. She also knew when to make a polite exit, and this was one of those times. She must've thought Marshall was about to have some work-related conversation she could not be privy to.

"Hey Charlie…" Marshall greeted him through slightly chattering teeth. "What's up?"

"Well, I'm not sure…" the younger was forced to admit. "I've got someone on hold for you, but I don't know who it is. It came to the office from an unauthorized number. I'm supposed to check with you before I put those through, aren't I?"

Marshall was a little bit baffled. At first, he'd thought it might be Mary, but she knew how to get around protocol. She'd have called Delia directly, not Charlie, even though he'd told her to try the Sunshine Building first. Well, she was under-the-weather. Perhaps she'd made a mistake. He knew she'd be annoyed about being kept on hold, and hurried to confirm with Charlie.

"Put it on through," Marshall told him. "I'll listen to the number from the operator and see if I know it."

"All right…"

There was a beep while Charlie made the transfer, and a lapse where Marshall listened for the automated voice that would tell him who was waiting on the other end. The digits were local to Albuquerque, and they did seem vaguely familiar, but Marshall was unable to place them. Pure curiosity kept him waiting, marveling at the slight build of Delia's phone and how it fit so perfectly to his ear. His cell had fast become prehistoric.

"Hello?" it was a man's voice on the other end.

And now, Marshall didn't need to ask any questions. Only one word combined with the number kick-started his recall.

"Mark?" he questioned. "Is that you?"

"Yeah," he replied, but it wasn't with any sense of relief. "It took me awhile to reach you."

Marshall glanced at his watch under his coat, exposing his bare skin to the frosty breeze. It was almost 2:30. The girls would be getting home from school soon.

"The guy who kept answering the phone said he wasn't able to get in touch with you," Mark continued, but there was nothing accusatory in his tone. "I asked him to keep trying. I guess he did."

"Yeah, that was probably Charlie…" Marshall explained, not registering that if Mark had harassed the man about phoning, it might be important. "He's…well, kind of like my assistant," he fabricated quickly. "We're out in the boondocks today; hard to get a signal," he went on. "But, no matter. Everything okay?"

Despite Mark's apparent insistence that he reach Marshall, there was a sudden silence after the chief's question. Mark was considering how to go about informing his ex's husband of what was going on now that he had him. He'd been so focused on getting through; he hadn't thought what to say. He could just blurt it out, of course, but he knew that wasn't very tactful.

"Mark?" Marshall prompted, wanting to get to the root of this. "I asked if everything was okay. There isn't anything wrong with Norah, is there?"

It was his first thought, not able to fathom any other reason Mark might call him in the middle of the day while he was at work. They shared a mutual adoration for Norah, but she _was_ Mark's daughter. He would want to inform anyone who cared about her if she happened to be in any kind of trouble.

"No, Norah's fine," he answered.

"Good."

"Listen, Marshall…" they were getting near it now, the mentioned thought. He knew the way a tone altered to suit more dire of circumstances; he was going to get his answer soon. "I'm really bad at this; I don't know the right way to tell you something like this…"

"How makes no difference," the taller of the two assured him. "Honest. Just tell me."

"All right…" Mark sighed.

It was lucky Marshall had been bred as so patient, because Mark was really testing him. He just hoped, whatever this was, that it had nothing to do with Mary. Surely Mark would be upset too if something had happened to her. He would have this melancholy tone, sure, but he'd be displaying some emotion beyond that. They were very good friends, after all.

"Well, Mary got a call this morning," he eventually revealed. "Jinx…" one more exhale. "Jinx – she passed away. Liver failure."

Marshall _was_ surprised, there was no denying. He almost felt his heart jitter uncomfortably inside his chest. But, he was also shocked at how readily he came to terms with the statement. His mind always went to 'fix it' and it was programmed into him every step of the way.

"Oh my God…" he breathed, running a freezing hand over his eyes as he continued trying to process. "Jesus…" there had to be something else he could offer besides all the names in vain, but there was nothing voluntarily available. He just gaped and rubbed his temples, waiting for Mark to give him some more information.

"How far are you from home?" the other man finally posed. He was quick to sum-up, "I mean, I don't need details; I know you and Mary can't get wordy…"

"No-no…" Marshall shook his head, not wanting him to feel badly for asking. After all, there was a very valuable reason, and it was the name that triggered the most essential query Marshall needed to raise. "Is Mary there? Can I talk to her?"

He wasn't sure where Mark was stationed at the moment, but nothing was more important than getting Mary on the phone. The weight of the circumstances suddenly began to sink heavily over Marshall; he'd been going through the motions at first. Funny, how he could mention Mary and just like that it became real.

Mary didn't have a mother. Mary was probably crying. Mary was alone. Mary was sick. Mary might need Jinx. Mary was fighting. Mary had no parents.

Mary-Mary-Mary.

Before he could voice any of this, Mark had responded, "She's here, but she's talking to Brandi on her cell," he explained. "I think she'll be awhile. She'll be really glad to hear I was able to get in touch with you, though."

"Yeah – I'm…" Marshall cut himself off, wondering how long this had been going on when he'd been out-of-range. "I'm sorry about that," he felt so far from his wife in that moment, hating himself for being away when she had been slammed with something this unexpected.

"It's not like you knew," Mark was kind in attempting to absolve his guilt. "And, I'm no 'you,' but I've been with Mary all day. I didn't want her to be by herself."

Marshall breathed a sigh of relief at hearing that, but it also meant the trepidation started to eek its way in. How upset might Mary have been if Mark felt the need to stay with her? Of course, he was a considerate man; he likely would've insisted even if she'd pretended to be fine. Still, there was no way to know for sure until Marshall dug a little deeper.

"How is she?" his hushed voice came out sounding like the bitter wind circling in the surrounding air. "Is she putting on a brave face?"

Part of Marshall hoped not, but doubted this was the case; Mary never liked to show if she was unhappy, although she'd broken the walls a lot more since the girls had been born. Still, Mark's answer wasn't what he expected to hear.

"Not really," he reported. "She was pretty distressed, but then again I saw her about five minutes after she got the news. I was hoping she might be able to leave Brandi for tomorrow, but Peter must've told her already."

"Okay…" Marshall sighed loudly. "Okay…" he still had his hand on his head, like he was trying to keep it from falling off.

"How far are you from home?" Mark wanted to know, and this made Marshall cognizant of the fact that the other man had already asked this once. He'd neglected to inform.

"Almost three hours," he was truthful, not even bothering with WITSEC regulations. "But, tell Mary I'll be there as soon as I can."

"Sure," the other man agreed.

"Thank-you for calling, Mark."

He meant it too, and Mark heartily accepted the gratitude. Marshall wanted to tell him before he hung up to send Mary his love, but didn't imagine that would be overly appropriate to vocalize to her ex-husband.

"I'll see you," Marshall concluded before ending the call with Mark's faint, 'goodbye' trickling away on the end.

Standing there in the frosty air, Marshall knew he ought to get moving as fast as possible, but something had his feet rooted to the spot. His throat felt very dry, and he could only dimly make out the figures of Delia and the witnesses in the vastness beyond. He could see his own breath frothing in the gloomy grayness, reinforcing his existence with each gasp.

But, his existence was not what it once was anymore. His existence was nothing if he wasn't with Mary when she needed him most.

XXX

**A/N: Marshall's off to the races! XOXO.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I appreciate everyone who is taking the time to read and/or review. I know it can't be easy – I'm sure many of you are busy with holiday preparations! **

XXX

Mark was cautious about returning to Mary in the bedroom. He wanted to relieve her of Brandi; he was sure there was hysteria coming from the younger sister, and he didn't wish for that to make everything more difficult on day one. But, he also loved Brandi and wanted her to be able to cry and commiserate with her sister. He'd given Mary almost an hour shut up in there with the phone. He thought it was about time they call it quits, especially since he had news with Marshall on his way. Not to mention, the girls would be coming home soon.

Tentatively, Mark approached the closed door and eased it open without knocking. He stuck his head in to find Mary sitting upright against the headboard. She was stretched out in the sweats she'd been wearing when he'd arrived. The bedside lamp was on, and the hush of yellow combined with the pithy sunlight from outdoors gave the room a strange tinted quality.

Mary's hand was over her eyes, and she was speaking in a low voice of forced calm. Mark was mindful to shut the door behind him in case the kids arrived, and walked slowly in.

"Brandi, I-I don't know…" she stuttered beneath her hand. There was a loud sniff, "You can go down to the morgue if you want, but I'd take Peter with you…"

Mark sighed upon hearing this, and it made him pick up the pace. He took a gentle seat on the edge of the bed, making Mary aware of the fact that he'd arrived without startling her. She peeked at him through her fingers, but then her eyes ventured back to the bedspread.

"…Well, because I've been to the morgue and it isn't fun…" Mary rationalized; Brandi must've been asking why she needed an escort. "…No, I can't come. I have a fever; they won't let me in."

Mark wondered in the back of his mind if this was actually true, but Brandi was likely to buy it. It also gave Mary a good out.

"Squish, I want to see you too, but let's wait until tomorrow…" she was suggesting tiredly. "If we start congregating, the kids are gonna get suspicious. We need to figure out how to tell them before dropping the bomb."

Mark could hear her choking up at the thought of the children, and decided to do his part in wrapping things up. He extended his fingers and patted her outstretched leg lightly; her eyes flicked upward and he could tell she was listening with one ear and watching with a single orb. Mark merely rotated his hand around at his wrist, indicating it was time to put it to bed.

Mary nodded through her muddled speech, "We've been on a long time, Brandi…" she cut-in, eyes still with Mark. "Let's talk some more later. I'm really drained; I've been puking since last Thursday…" Mark noticed she chose not to mention it had ceased. "…Yes, I promise."

Mark waited, nearly satisfied, before he saw Mary gulp so hard there was a bulge going down her throat. He knew she was trying to stay cool for Brandi's benefit, but her resolve was beginning to run out. He'd come in at the right time.

"I love you too, Squish…" the telltale sign of letting go. "Call me tonight."

As soon as she was allowed, Mary all-but yanked the phone away from her ear, turned it off and flung it a little harder than usual onto the bed. Mark saw that she was shuddering, her cheeks still lined with tears. Her clingy baby sister had put her through the wringer, and it had taken its toll. With the shuddering came the deepest, most deliberate breathing Mark had ever heard.

Staying where he was at the end of the bed, "Don't hyperventilate, kid," he said it with a hint of a joke, but at its best it was sympathetic.

Predictably, Mary couldn't smile, "It's what Marshall always tells me to do."

Mark was confused, "Hyperventilate?"

She didn't even have it in her to roll her eyes, "Breathe," she explained. "When I'm upset; it's what he tells Norah and Alice. But, it isn't working…"

Proving this point, her shoulders slumped and a whole cascade of tears flowed from her eyes, even though she was no longer sobbing. It was much sadder this way; this miserable even-keel she was displaying.

Before Mark could answer, Mary had raised her waterlogged eyes and blinked at him with something so beyond longing, he wanted to cry too. Mentioning her husband had obviously sparked her memory, because he was still missing.

"Where is Marshall?" her voice broke on every word, and Mark scooted his way further up the bed to deliver as promised.

"On his way," he swore. "I finally talked to him; he's coming."

The steady breaths switched like a faucet into one long and unremitting exhale. It spoke to Mark with nothing but liberation. The first piece of good news she'd had all day. Unfortunately, it also came with more wetness, and this urged him to get on with another sliver of advice. He wasn't sure whether Mary would take it or not.

"Why don't you lie down for awhile?" he gambled, attempting to sound aloof. "Try to get some sleep; looks like you could use it…"

Mark reached up and brushed her bangs away from her forehead so he could get another read on her flesh. As he'd predicted, she was still warm, but he wasn't sure whether the dampness on her face came from tears, sweat, or both.

Mary shook her head, knocking his fingers aside, "There's too much to do, I can't just leave it all…"

But, even the very idea of handling all aspects that went along with a parent's passing sent Mary over the edge again. She put up a hand to shield her mouth and stifle what might fast-become bawling. The tears just ran over her knuckles, and all that came out from within were squeaks.

"Nothing needs to be decided today…" Mark assured her. "Don't put that pressure on yourself, Mare," he murmured. "Focus on you; limit yourself to worrying about Brandi…"

That was more than enough to have on her plate, Mark thought. It was apparent that despite the heartache Brandi had caused Mary, there was still an odd desire for her to share the little sister's woes.

Removing the hand, "She's a _wreck_," the elder whispered. "I could barely understand her through the phone for the first ten minutes…" she went on. "I think Peter finally talked her down a bit, but Mark…"

Her eyes took on a despondent, hopeless quality that the man had rarely seen there before. He waited, thinking she wasn't quite done.

"I honestly don't know what she's going to do without Jinx."

Several things happened at once. The thought that Brandi was going to have to cope without a mother brought on a fresh round of droplets at the exact moment Mark heard the front door open. He knew it wasn't Marshall, having only gotten off the phone a half hour before. For a split second he thought it might be Joanna, because he'd enlisted her to watch the kids. But, it became clear almost immediately that there were too many footsteps for it to be a grandmother. Only children made noise such as that.

"Mom?!"

Norah. And then the telltale chitter-chatter of three more.

Mary became agitated so quickly that Mark was startled. He thought she was going to lose her mind with this new obstacle to hurdle over.

"Oh God…" she moaned. "I don't know what to tell the kids…" she very nearly ascended into a wail while Mark delicately but desperately tried to quiet her down. "Norah will die if she sees me like this and Marshall's not here for Alice…"

"Mare, its okay…"

"Robyn and Max are out there…" she gestured wildly at the closed door. "Brandi set them home with that friend of Norah's; she told me, but I don't know where they're supposed to go…"

Mark thought if she didn't calm down, and soon, the foursome was likely to hear anyway. But fortunately, she seemed to have strung herself out momentarily and he seized the opportunity in her watery silence.

"That was Peter's idea," he hurried to explain. "I told him my mom would watch the girls and Max; she should be here any second, and then they're going to her place."

It didn't appear he was convincing her. She could hear the voices – so happy, so carefree; no clue the earth was about to implode. It was just a matter of how soon, and Mary knew she wasn't up for explanations today. In any case, it wouldn't be right to tell Robyn and Max without Brandi.

"Is Joanna okay with that?" she eventually whispered.

"She's fine," Mark promised. "I'll go out there now and make some small talk – make up some story about why they have to go," he jabbered. "You being sick is actually gonna work out really well."

He was right, Mary thought in the corner of her mind. The illness made for an excellent cover. She just didn't know how the kids were going to react to this change of events – if they'd be skeptical. As rapidly as she could, she went through each in her mind.

Alice was too young to get suspicious, but she would probably pout about going to Joanna's. Maybe Marshall could call and smooth that over later? She would need a talk from daddy to make it better.

Max might have an inkling, but he was so insanely shy he wouldn't dare speak up. He was no trouble.

Robyn? Doubtful. Too self-involved and too talkative to spare a moment to think about it.

Norah. Therein lay the problem. Mary knew, without question, that her eldest daughter would catch on that something was up. Fortunately, she also belonged to Mark and so he would be able to spot it. Mary hoped so.

She must've gone vacant in her contemplation, because Mark accepted her silence as approval. He stood up quickly and squeezed her knee.

"I'll take care of it," he vowed. "Lie down and close your eyes. I want you asleep when I get back," he smiled lovingly.

Mary didn't return the favor, but she did incline her head onto the pillow, too worn-out from tragedy and a beat-down body to fight anymore. At least for the moment.

True to his word, Mark made his way out to the living room, trying to seem perfectly blasé. Fortunately, everyone was still putting backpacks down or hanging up coats to bother with who was home and who wasn't. Mark slapped his hands together once for effect, feeding the children a too-cheesy smile.

"We've got quite a crew this afternoon…" he announced jovially, which caused four curious heads to turn in his direction. Judging by the looks on their faces, they'd thought he was Mary.

It was Norah who spoke first, with no coat to remove, "I thought you were just bringing mom lunch," without so much as a 'hello.' "You're still here?"

Mark opened his mouth to rebuttal, but Robyn cut-in before he got the chance, "Hi Mark!" she shuffled herself in front of the other three to be in the center of his line of vision. She was wearing pink corduroy pants and a matching cream-colored turtleneck with flowers. Her hair was a sight; so long she resembled an uncombed Rupunzel. "Did my mom tell you?" she posed eagerly. "It's pioneer week at school, and my group is putting on a show," she fluffed said hair. "I want to be the mother. She has this long dress, and a bonnet, and a sash…"

Norah interrupted, "Where's mom?" she'd obviously realized she wasn't going to get an answer to her prior question.

Mark attempted to begin, "Mom's just…"

But four kids was three too many; Robyn was still babbling about her play, but Alice clearly thought it was high time she got a few words in.

"Mark, we learned letter M today…" she informed him. "Daddy's name starts with M!"

"So does your mom's," he replied hastily. "So does mine…"

There came a faint, "Mine too…" from Max, but he barely moved his lips, so nobody caught it.

"Mother starts with M!" Robyn declared, anxious to get the focus back on herself. "If you know M, you could help me write my lines, Alice," she decided at once. "We could practice together."

"Could we?" Alice's eyes were wide with anticipation; she worshipped Robyn in a far greater sense than she worshipped Norah.

"Sure…" Robyn was quickly fabricating, knowing this would be minimal at best since Alice couldn't read.

Mark knew he needed to get on with details soon because Norah, for one, was paying no attention to her cousin and sister. She was becoming sulky because Mark wasn't fessing up.

"Listen, you four…" he was still working to keep the smile on his face. "You might want to go into the kitchen and grab a snack. My mom's gonna be stopping by soon, and you're gonna go hang out with her for a bit."

This prompted a different reaction from everybody. They stopped talking, at the very least. Mark's eyes scanned the quad, trying to see who was the least likely to buy into the scenario.

"Why?" as expected, Norah started hammering questions first. "Is mom not here? I thought she was sick."

"She is; she is…" Mark nodded convincingly. "And, she's really not feeling well, so it's probably best if we let her stay by herself and rest."

"Why are _we_ going?" Robyn pointed a finger to her chest, and then an indistinct hand to Max. "She's Norah's grandma; not mine."

"Mine neither!" Alice piped up.

Mark did his best to brush over that, "Well, Brandi and Peter may not be home until late…" he was running in blind now, but so far he seemed in the clear. "Peter's got something to handle at the dealership, and Brandi said she'd leave work early to help him."

Mark had never lied so much all at once; it was kind of invigorating, but it also filled him with an indistinct shame. Robyn, Max, and Alice might forgive him for telling so many outlandish stories, but Norah wouldn't when she discovered the truth. She hated being fibbed to, and was sure to worry what had become of Mary. She spent half her life worrying about Mary.

Unfortunately, he wasn't out of the woods yet because Robyn plainly detected something fishy.

"Even if we can't go home, why can't we just go to Jinx's?"

She was a sharp nine-year-old. Why send them off with Joanna when they had a mutual grandmother nearby? Mark tried not to show how uncomfortable refuting this made him, but Robyn didn't spare him a second to explain.

"I'd rather go to Jinx's," she shrugged, not realizing how difficult this would be. "I can hang out at the studio; she lets me do that all the time…"

"Me too!" Alice chimed in, which clearly annoyed her big sister.

"You are such a copycat," Norah accused. "Can't you do anything yourself? Dad said we're going to Grandma's…"

"He's _your_ dad!" Alice butted in.

"Shut up!" Norah fired again. "You don't hear Max whining; _he's_ not a baby…"

"I'm not a baby!"

"All right, all right…" Mark held up his hands to silence them, and the bickering died down after a few more 'shushing' attempts from the middle-man.

It did get sticky on occasion, with Norah or Alice continually the odd man out, since they only shared Mary and not a father; by association, not the same grandmother either. As of now, Norah was tapping her foot impatiently and Alice looked like she might cry; her brunette hair windswept from the outdoors. Robyn stood sentry and haughty, used to getting her way.

"Sorry girls," Mark apologized, not offended by the mix-ups of whose dad was whose. "It's Joanna for everybody today. Go grab a snack; she'll be here soon."

Reluctantly, Robyn huffed and pulled on Alice's hand to get her to join; the younger didn't even think twice, perfectly willing to tail along after her elder cousin. Norah, however, stayed put, Max shuffling his feet nearby.

Mark's daughter wasn't an idiot, "Are you telling the truth?" she narrowed her brows.

"Norah, I'm not really in the mood," Mark informed her sharply. "Be a good girl; look after your sister at Grandma's…"

"Why do I have to when Robyn's the one who wants to?" she asked, and Mark didn't miss the way her eyes traveled to-and-from the bedroom door. She was too smart and too in-sync with Mary to accept that she was hiding away, sick or not. "Is mom sleeping?"

"Trying to," Mark informed her. "She'll have a better chance with a quiet house."

"I still don't get why we're going over there on a Monday night," the ten-year-old stated. "It's weird. Is mom really that sick, or is Marshall not coming home until tomorrow?" she questioned further. "I know sometimes he has to stay the night with work."

"No, Marshall will be back around dinnertime," Mark was honest. "It's just easier for mom – and Brandi and Peter – if you're all in the same place."

Norah still did not look persuaded, and she kept her deep, dark eyes on her father the entire time she journeyed to the kitchen. It wasn't until she had to turn them in favor of grabbing a few cookies that she dispensed with the penetrating stare.

This left Mark alone with Max, who had not commenced with the girls in finding sustenance. He was such a quiet kid; Mark often didn't know what to say to him. He was short for his age – six – with hair the color of sand; the same as it had been when he was a baby. He had round cheeks, but the rest of him was perfectly slender, and he wore oval-shaped glasses framing crystal blue eyes.

"Max, aren't you hungry?" the man asked politely. "Mary and Marshall won't mind if you take a cookie or two."

He shook his head and whispered, "No. Not really."

Mark narrowed his brows at the boy's mousy figure, "School go all right?" he was never sure if it was sadness or shyness that caused Max to be so introverted.

He nodded, "It was fine."

Mark was relieved of the task of making further conversation with Max by the front door opening. Joanna stuck her head in, a wool winter coat draped around her shoulders. She carried a purse and was jingling her car keys, eyes first catching Max stationed in the entryway.

"Hi cutie…" she patted his head and he gave her nothing but a smile. "They ready, Mark?" she questioned her son.

"Yeah, they're good," well, part of it was true. He bellowed into the kitchen, "Let's go girls! Time to jet!"

Fortunately, all of the kids were instilled with the ability to book it when asked. There was the sound of chairs scraping, cabinets slamming, and cookie wrappers being thrown away before the three ladies reemerged to replace their coats and head out into the cold.

"You guys be good, all right?" Mark requested. "Peter and I will probably come pick you up after dinner."

There was a murmuring of agreement at this; Robyn and Alice seemed to have accepted the circumstances and were already conversing about how best to practice the pioneer play. Max had bolted out the front door at the mere mention of being sprung, sister and cousin hot on his heels. Only Norah lingered, Joanna calling instructions to those in the drive to get in the back of her car.

"I'll see you later Norah, all right?" Mark was still trying to sound upbeat.

Her gaze wavered on his, still coatless. And then, almost out the door, "Is mom okay?"

It was harder, this round, for Mark to tell tall tales. He could see in Norah's face that she was truly concerned. She didn't suspect Jinx, but she thought something had gone wrong with Mary, who had been on the mend that morning. She trusted her father to tell her the truth – even a portion of it.

He fed her a half-hearted smile, "She'll be better soon."

Norah knew she wasn't getting any more than that, and so she allowed Joanna to take her arm and guide her outside, Mark feeling an overwhelming sense of culpability in her wake.

XXX

**A/N: I know I'm dragging my heels a bit! I'm curious to see what you think of the kids being lied to (however temporarily.) Big hugs!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: I know I sometimes prolong the inevitable – I hope you'll stick with me! ;) **

XXX

After much persuading, which fast turned into haranguing, Mark was finally able to get Mary down to sleep. He didn't really blame her for not being able to; her mind was full to the brim, and she was preoccupied with the road ahead. But, he also knew she was exhausted and would likely make herself sicker if she continued to tailspin. He was grateful when he eventually heard her gentle, steady breathing, meaning she'd crashed. She was already sequestered inside the covers, so he flicked out the lamp and left her in peace.

It was almost six o'clock by the time Marshall arrived. Mark was in the kitchen, sitting at the island and trying to make himself useful, when the other man came sliding through the front door. He brought a nasty gust of wind along with him, and his cheeks were pink from the cold. Twilight had fallen and so he stood out against the velvety blackness before quickly shutting the hatch behind him.

"The weary traveler…" Mark greeted him, sounding a little like Marshall himself. "You made decent time," he observed with a glance at his watch.

"I suppose…" Marshall was a little breathless from the chill as he unwound his scarf and hung it up. "I ran into traffic; with a three-hour drive, you're bound to hit some no matter what time you leave." With another exhale, he unbuttoned his coat and then meandered through the living to meet Mark in the kitchen. "I got here as fast as I could."

"Sure," Mark nodded to show there were no hard-feelings. "I know that, and I didn't mind hanging out. You did everything you could," it seemed an appropriate phrase for today.

Marshall took his turn at bobbing his head, but from what Mark could glean, he looked a little lost for what to do since Mary was nowhere in sight. As it was, he ran a restless hand up and down his bicep; peeking left-to-right like his wife might pop up from behind the counter.

Eventually, he saw there was no point in pretenses. Both of them were aware of what information he wanted most.

"How's Mary?" his voice came out as a whisper.

Mark shrugged, "Right now, she's all right," he began. "I finally got her to go to sleep around four; I think she's still zonked."

"Oh, yeah…" Marshall said, as though he should've figured as much. "That's…really good; it'll get her mind off things for awhile."

"Well, that's what I thought," Mark didn't want to take a lot of credit for something seemingly simplistic. "But, before she went down…"

He hesitated, knowing Marshall would want an honest answer in spite of how it might hurt to hear it. He'd done enough lying today, and the taller of the two could clearly see he was having a hard time putting fact into phrase. While his brown eyes strayed the path, Marshall's blue ones held a sign of indulgence.

"How upset was she?" his tone softer still.

Mark should've known he wouldn't have to explain. Marshall and Mary were constantly in rhythm, no matter how far apart in distance. He would've been able to sense a feeling gone awry. Mark knew the pair of them were funny that way.

"Upset…" the shorter responded vaguely, putting aside the pencil he'd been scratching with. "She had a hard time keeping it together after spending, like, an eternity on the phone with Brandi," he hadn't meant to sound so juvenile, but it slipped without warning. "I guess she was even worse off, from the sound of it."

"God…" Marshall breathed in recognition. "Yeah. Jinx and Brandi were so close," it was bizarre how he'd already reverted to past-tense. "I'm grateful she has Mary, but still. Mary needs somebody too."

"You're right about that," Mark agreed. He segued hastily into giving definitions on the kids, "Max and the girls are at my mom's; Peter and I are gonna pick them up later."

"So, they don't know?" Marshall had suspected, but wanted to confirm.

"No…" Mark shook his head, laughing bitterly as he recalled Mary's utter bewilderment in how to break the news. "Mary really wasn't in much shape to spill the beans."

Mark decided not to mention that Norah was the only one who had seemed remotely doubtful, because he could see in Marshall's face that he was feeling guiltier by the second. So much had gone on while he'd spent the day away; he had to be experiencing a lot of blame for having missed it. Mark knew how crazy he was about Mary. He'd been there; it was a sensation that never completely went away, even when the attraction died.

"Is she…unhappy with me?" Marshall finally asked in a low voice. "That I wasn't around when she heard?"

Mark didn't want him to feel that way, "No, man; come on…" he wagged his head from side-to-side. "She missed you; I'm not gonna lie, but she gets it."

"Right…" Marshall conceded quietly. "Right."

There was a silence then, Marshall unsure what to say or do. He didn't want to disturb Mary if she'd finally succumbed to some rest, but he'd rushed home for a reason. It felt odd to have nothing waiting after so much hype. Plus, he didn't really want to leave Mark in limbo after he had been so accommodating. There must be something he could express that would fill the void rapidly forming in his chest.

"I might just…check on Mary…" he jerked a thumb at the bedroom door, no plans to wake her just yet. "If you don't mind."

"Why would I mind?" Mark grinned casually, showing it was cool. He also scooped up a slip of paper he'd be scribbling on and offered it to Marshall on the opposite side of the counter. "I didn't have much to do once Mary went to bed, so I started making a list for you guys…"

Marshall scanned, flummoxed, through Mark's speech, thoroughly astonished someone could be so generous. There were numbers for flower stores; numbers for funeral homes. Names of preachers and burial services; dates and times to correspond. He was floored to think how much time Mark had saved them by looking all this up.

"…It's a lot to take in right now…" Mark was saying. "But, I thought it might be helpful down the line."

"Wow…" Marshall looked up at him with that face of amazement. "You found all this in a couple hours?" he questioned, knowing that had to have been the case. "Thank-you…" this part was easy. "Really, Mark…"

And he held out his hand, a gesture of good will, not just for the formalities, but for looking after Mary when she'd had no one else. Marshall had always got along with Mark perfectly well, but this was an entirely different level. He hadn't known Mark considered them this close, but it was obvious he did. With Norah in the picture, how could he not?

"No problem," the ex assured Marshall as they clasped fingers. "I'm gonna go here in just a minute to get the girls; I told Peter I'd drop by around 6:30."

Marshall signaled his approval, and then saw no reason to delay going into the bedroom any longer. Asleep or awake, there was a Mary in there that had suffered a shock far too great for anyone to handle alone. It was time to do his duty as the loyal husband and be by her side – in sickness and in health.

Warily, he slipped his body narrowly through the door, mindful to feel his way on the wall since it was dark. He knew at once that Mary was still snoozing; he could hear the serene way her breaths lifted in and out. Mark had also taken care to keep her under the covers, a thoughtful gesture for which Marshall was thankful.

He had no inklings of disturbing Mary, but he also knew that once she got down, she usually managed to stay down for awhile. This was a far cry from her earlier years – particularly when she'd been pregnant with Alice – but she'd grown into quite the slumberous sleeper. This was what caused him to snap the bedside lamp on, none too concerned about rousing her with the light.

Still though, Marshall felt a twinge in his heart being able to see his wife in the glimmer from the bulb. She _looked_ peaceful enough, but he knew her well enough to spot the anomalies. Her cheeks were pale, and the flesh underneath her eyes was red-rimmed and tinged in pink. Her golden hair, normally bouncing with just a little bit of curl, was matted and slightly tangled on the pillow. He could see the strands where she'd raked her fingers through it.

Wanting to touch her, but knowing he shouldn't, Marshall knew there wasn't much to attend to if Mary was asleep. But, he wasn't going to leave her a second time. Therefore, he settled himself gently on the opposite side of the bed; legs outstretched, and opened his book from the nightstand. He would be there when she came around.

He stayed that way for awhile, listening contently to Mary inhale and exhale. He kept his stance through Mark leaving to retrieve the girls as promised. She was still asleep when he heard the door a second time, meaning the man was back – children in tow. Depositing his book from whence it had come, Marshall knew it was in his job description to make nice with the kids so they wouldn't worry.

He slipped out as silently as he'd come in, and saw at once that Mark must've been longer at Joanna's than anticipated. Alice was zonked out, her head in Mark's chest. Norah trailed behind, looking dubious and somewhat perplexed.

"Hey…" Mark inclined his head over Alice's hunched form in his arms. "Mom said she went down for the count early…" he grunted as he passed the daughter to her father. Alice shifted and whined, like she might still be awake, but didn't attempt to rise.

"Were you a sleepy girl?" Marshall whispered, kissing the crown of her dark hair.

"Mmm…" Alice moaned, still with her eyes squeezed shut. "I wanted to stay up…" her speech was thick and muffled in Marshall's shirt. "But, I was just…" she yawned. "…Tired…"

"Ah…" Marshall mused indistinctly, and then transferred his blue eyes to Norah's large dark ones. "Hey gorgeous…" he whispered. "How you doing?"

"Hey…" Norah chose not to answer the rhetorical question and jumped straight to more important matters. "Is mom up yet?"

Marshall shook his head, "Sorry champ…" he began to rub circles onto Alice's back so she'd go back to sleep. "She's pretty beat; we'll probably leave her for tonight."

Marshall had thought Mark's lie combined with her step-father's would only enhance Norah's qualms, but it seemed to have the opposite effect. Her eyes took on a deep, saddened quality; like she might finally be buying into the stories she was being fed. It was apparent they didn't please her.

"She's really _that_ sick?" the disbelief was still etched there, but it was with lack-of-acceptance rather than mistrust.

Marshall did what he could to ease her mind, Alice wiggling herself upward so she wouldn't slip in his grasp. "We'll say she took today to reenergize," he explained. "Rejuvenate. Recuperate – charge the batteries."

Norah almost smiled, "I wonder how many ways you know to say the exact same thing."

"An even hundred, champ," he responded in kind. "An even hundred."

"He knows a million…" Alice murmured unexpectedly from her huddle, a one-up that caused Norah to sigh and roll her eyes at the irritating little sister.

But, it was clear that Mary's 'mama bear' nature had rubbed off on Norah. No matter how pesky Alice might be, there was a responsible streak instilled within her very soul. She knew the situation had been unusual tonight, and saw her opportunity to assist.

"Do you want me to help the clown here with her pajamas?" she asked, falling back on the name she had given Alice that morning. "I can match them and everything," she smirked in a wily way, and her tone was so reminiscent of Mary's that Marshall could help but grin.

"You must be working on those sister-of-the-year points…" Marshall decided, knowing Norah wouldn't want her act made out to be heroic. "Dressing for bed earns you ten, I think."

"More like twenty…" Norah took her turn at upping the ante, and Marshall unfurled Alice's legs to place her on the ground.

She was all rubbery and rumpled from having been curled for so long, and she rubbed her eyes with her fists as any four-year-old was known to do. Norah patted her roughly on the back to get her moving the right direction, and fortunately there was no accompanying, "That hurt!" to go along.

"Daddy; you tuck me in?" his daughter blinked up at him, speech muddled and sparkly blue eyes dusted from her nap.

"Be there in a flash," he promised. "Go with Norah, she'll help you pick out some PJ's."

"I'll join you," Mark offered. "And then I'm gonna have to hit the hay too," meaning it was time for him to go home.

The three of them made their way blearily back to the bedroom, and Marshall knew Mark had tagged along to keep them from making too much noise. The lankier stayed behind momentarily, trying to fathom if Norah would actually go to bed without saying goodnight to Mary. Alice would be no problem, but despite how much Norah had grown up in the last year or two, she still relied so heavily on her mother. She would likely ask for at least a hug, promising not to take long. Marshall wasn't sure how to refute the incoming proposition.

Resigned, he eventually followed the gang, pausing in the open doorway. Norah took out a pink pair of pajamas printed with yellow stars that used to be Robyn's and handed them to Alice. It was actually Mark who ended up helping her undress, while Norah undid the covers in the bottom bunk. Alice would have to get someone taller to fiddle with her blankets on top.

She sauntered over following her handiwork and appealed to Marshall in the door, speaking in an undertone.

"Peter looked sad when he came to get Robyn and Max."

No beating around the bush. No facade. Straight shooting. This was a US Marshal in the making, right here.

Marshall hid his surprise and continued, "Did he?"

She must've known Marshall was her best shot for the truth. Her dad was too protective and too concerned with Mary's wants and needs to let the secret out. That was why she cut to the case.

"Is mom _really_ sick or something?" her voice squeaked from trying to keep it at a whisper, but also from the fact that she was fighting tears. "Is that why Brandi couldn't get Robyn and Max, because she's at the hospital? Is that why dad's lying?"

The run-on got long-winded, and Norah suddenly reminded Marshall of how she'd been as a child; prone to fretting over her mother to the point it reduced her to tears. He was so disheartened to see her this distressed that he immediately left Mark and Alice to their own devices and pulled her into the hall.

"Norah, listen to me…" he crouched, bent his knees to be on her level, only reinforcing the idea that she was six all over again. "I would not be standing around here if your mother was in the hospital; I'd be sitting right next to her," he whispered urgently. "You believe that, don't you?"

This prompted a sniff so no wetness would leak out, and Norah nodded, "Yeah, I guess," in spite of its bedraggled quality, Marshall thought she was sincere.

He placed an arm on her shoulder and squeezed it, "Mom wouldn't want you getting so worked up," he swore, seeing her angrily wipe at her eyes where a few droplets had snuck onto her cheeks. "She's had a hard day, but I promise she's not in danger – nothing like that."

"But, if there's something that's bothering her – something that would make her sad…" Norah hissed desperately. "You told me; you told me when I was little that she shouldn't have to mess with stuff like that because her dad was so awful to her when _she_ was little…" the girl was clearly determined to prove she was not to be slighted; she was too intelligent. "Is this like that? Is it that bad?"

Marshall really wasn't sure what to say, but knew he had to act fast. If he waited too long, it was obvious Norah would assume the worst. She was already stringing herself apart, and if Mark came out and saw her like this he would not be happy. Not to mention, Alice would freak out and they were so close to getting everyone to bed.

"I don't like keeping you in the dark, champ…" was how he began; hoping a tad bit of leeway would block her off for the time being. "And I know you're not asking all these questions to be nosy; I know you just…"

"I just want mom to be okay," she interrupted to confirm, and Marshall nodded.

"She's okay," he nodded assertively. "She's not hurt – she is ill, but she's fine," he conceded. "Come on. I'll let you see for yourself."

Praying Mary had not risen with all the noise in the hall, Marshall took Norah by the shoulder and steered her to the bedroom at the back of the house. He put a finger to his lips and Norah nodded to show she understood. With a creak, her step-father allowed her to peek into the confines, spilling yellow light onto the bedspread.

"Sleeping like a baby," Marshall whispered, grateful to see Mary just where he'd left her. "And you should be too, by the way."

He could tell from the look on Norah's face that knowing Mary was in the house was enough to placate her for the evening. She was a compliant child, and getting a visual that spoke to the truth – at least in part – sealed the deal. Marshall didn't think for a minute she wouldn't be harassing somebody again tomorrow, but for a kid so worried about Mary, she wasn't going to bother her now that she'd laid eyes on the reality.

"Tell you what," Marshall found himself going the extra mile with Norah's steady nod. He closed the door once more, "Why don't you read in your bunk for awhile while Alice goes down?" he suggested. "If mom wakes up before you go to bed I'll let you know; you can come in and say goodnight."

He knew Mary well enough to know that she'd put up a good front for Norah's sake, especially if it was brief and she became aware of how suspicious her daughter was.

Now the girl smiled, "All right," she agreed. "Goodnight Marshall…"

Still in her jeans and red sweatshirt, ponytail slightly askew, she wrapped her arms around his long waist. He kissed her hair patted her back before bestowing her with the obligatory words left before slumber.

"Sleep tight, beautiful," he requested. "I love you."

"Love you too…"

Marshall watched as she let him go; watched as she informed Mark of the plan and whispered goodnights there as well. He held himself off tucking her in, knowing she didn't want to be looked upon as a baby. Once Marshall had smooched Alice, who was already halfway to dreamland once more, the men left the girls in peace with only a small lamp for Norah to read by.

Marshall sighed rather dramatically as he and Mark commenced in the living room once more. He could tell by the other man's eyes that he wasn't fooled when it came to Norah.

"We are not gonna be able to keep this in the vault for long…" Marshall spoke first, and Mark bobbed his head in agreement. "Norah is way too sharp to keep buying into this stuff."

"Tell me about it…" Mark supplied as he went to the door to grab his coat. "She has got some kind of radar or tracking on Mary; they've got this mind meld; she knows something's wrong with her."

"I found it endearing until today," Marshall quipped with an untimely chuckle, knowing he still felt as much no matter what he said.

"Well, we can give it up tomorrow," Mark figured. "Tell Mary we'll take care of it – us and Peter," he clarified. "She and Brandi can be on stand-by if we need them."

Marshall nodded, still lost in thought about what a little detective Norah was. She didn't miss anything; not a single detail. She was careful, she was calculating, and all of that increased tenfold if she thought someone she loved was in trouble.

Mary, Mary, and Mary. Through and through.

XXX

**A/N: I am a bad-bad girl for making you wait for Mary and Marshall together – I fully and completely admit it! It is coming NEXT and that I can promise!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: It's weepy-reunion time!**

XXX

Marshall wasn't sure his promise to Norah about getting to say goodnight to Mary was going to hold up. An hour after the girls had been nestled in bed, she was still asleep. Part of him was glad, because she would need the rest in the impending days. But, part of him wanted to give Norah what he'd said he would. She'd been shuffled off enough.

It was almost nine o'clock before his wife finally stirred. Marshall was getting drowsy himself, and had made peace with the fact that everything was going to have to be put on hold until the morning. He'd changed to plaid pants and a T-shirt, and was on the verge of joining Mary in bed. Just before he reached to snap off the lamp, he heard her.

"Mmm?"

Her back was to him, and so he couldn't see her face. But, he paused, covers halfway drawn, light still shining bright as ever. After some rustling and shifting, undoubtedly to acquaint herself with her surroundings, she rolled on over, intuition telling her there was someone else in the room.

For a woman who had been under for such an extended period of time, not to mention ill and suffering the shock of losing a mother, Mary looked remarkably alert. Her green eyes, blurry from sleep, were fixed dead-center on Marshall. If such a thing were possible, Marshall ventured a guess she'd been longing for his comfort even in sleep.

Fortunately, the man still knew exactly what buttons to push; what to tweak, which levers to pull. He smiled softly and allowed the comforter to fall from his long fingers.

"There's my girl."

Mary blinked at him for a mere moment before beginning her ascent to sit up. Marshall saw where this was headed; saw that speaking was going to be a bit of a problem. No matter – he was eloquent with words. Mary was better with stillness. It was what made them so perfect.

Swiftly, he slid himself into bed, swinging his legs beneath the covers in no time flat. Their timing was impeccable; the minute Mary got herself upright, he had settled in. Without even considering, he extended his arms and pulled her, tight, into his chest. It was true Mary had become much more accustomed to touching since marriage and children, but Marshall had yet to see her accept it so readily. Her arms wove around his back and rested there, up high, so her head lay cradled against his heart.

Marshall was delicate in massaging her back, not knowing how sensitive she might be with a lingering fever. But, she said nothing and this made him think it was about time he did the honors.

"Mary, I am so sorry…" he whispered tenderly, resting his cheek on the crown of her soft honey hair. "You must be so aimless right now…" he assumed, knowing she hated that feeling and wanting to seem sympathetic. "I am so sad for you, and I feel terrible that I wasn't here…"

His unbridled sincerity and the gentle way in which he rocked her, not even giving it a second thought, filled Mary with more bliss and more sorrow than she'd ever experienced. Two into one was a lethal combination when it came to her emotions in the present climate. The tears came, as they'd been coming all day, and with them came the most pitiful of hiccupping squeaks inside his chest. She was trying to keep the full-blown sobs at bay, but it just made her sound like Alice when she got out-of-control.

"I'm not mad at you…" she eventually managed, ribcage heaving with the effort of staying in one piece. "It's not your fault."

Marshall wanted to tell her he knew as much, but that it still bothered him, when he decided it was probably best not to say anything. He could feel the way she was trembling and knew it was from both relief and dread. He opted to just lay a long kiss on her temple, which quieted the tremors momentarily.

Then again, he really ought to have known she wasn't done.

"Where are the kids?" she sounded desperate, which didn't shock Marshall. As a mother, she forever worried about the children, even the children that weren't hers.

"They spent the afternoon with Joanna," he explained softly, not about to relinquish his grip until she pulled away. "Alice is down for the night, and Norah was up reading about an hour ago, but she may have gone to bed too." And then, knowing the particulars weren't what she wanted, "They're good. Norah's a little sketchy, but the other three are oblivious."

It was warm in Marshall's grasp; warm and light, and Mary found it in the depths of her soul to tease sadly, "I never thought I'd regret having such a brain for a kid."

Marshall laughed, as he knew he was supposed to, and determined it was okay to slip away slightly. He'd felt her loosen up, and undid his arms to look at her face-to-face. She was melancholy and miserable; tired despite the five-hour nap and growing bags under her eyes.

"She gets that from her quick-witted mother, you know," he responded with a wink.

Mary tried to smile, but it was weak and drained of an energy she did not have. Marshall hadn't expected less than this attitude, but it still made him uncomfortable. It reminded him of when Norah had gone missing, but they'd been able to fix that. This was much harder to fix, because it was forever.

He knew the time had presented itself to ask the hardest questions. Mary had readied herself, and bloodshot or not, this was the only opportunity he was going to get.

"Did you get any specifics on Jinx?" he was careful, reaching to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. "Other than what you heard on the first call?"

Mary was determined and businesslike all at once. She shook her head, but apparently did have some information.

"They didn't have much else to tell me," she revealed with a sniff. "I guess if they catch liver failure early than they can reverse the effects somehow, or else get a donor, like that witness we had…"

"Ben," Marshall supplied quickly.

"Yeah…" Mary shook her head, not finding his name overly important. "But, this acute liver failure that she had…" a hard swallow. Marshall patted her arm and she continued. "It's like the plague; it happens so fast…" her words were tripping over each other now. "I didn't even know there was such a thing."

"I'm not sure I did either," Marshall offered in hopes of making her feel better; he might've heard of it, but now wasn't the time to boast.

"It's like the thing just gave out after so many years of…"

And then she stopped. Her eyes took on a reminiscent quality that was not at all merry. She was looking right at Marshall, willing him to understand, and he didn't. She needn't have said, but obviously felt it was prudent to finish.

A whisper, "They asked me if Jinx was an alcoholic."

Marshall bobbed his head, unsure of what the appropriate comment might be. He was trying to detect what it was about this particular problem that was upsetting his wife.

"I told them she was – I mean, I couldn't lie…"

"No…" Marshall readily agreed.

"But, I didn't like the way it sounded…" she attempted to convey by leaning forward, by clasping her hands. "They made it sound like she was still drinking like a fish, and she was past that. It was her own damn bad luck that made her liver shut down years after the fact," a watery gaze to his. "Doesn't twelve years sober count for anything?"

Marshall couldn't help himself from feeding her a sad smile, knowing how much it would've touched Jinx that Mary had given her so much credit. She'd wanted to lie to officials so there wouldn't be a stain on her record. He wasn't sure if mentioning this would make Mary feel better or worse, but he guessed there would be a lot of guilt that went along with Jinx's passing. It was best to try and put that aside from the beginning.

"It would've meant a lot to her…" he took up Mary's hand and compressed inward. "To hear you say that."

Worse. It made it worse. Well, Marshall had-had a fifty-fifty chance. The way she bit on her lip convinced him she was thinking it had taken until she was dead to mention Jinx deserved some merit. He let her chew for a minute, and then transferred the hand he was holding to her cheek. He ran a finger up and down, trying to get her to look at him.

Instead of building the walls, Mary gave him a watery green gaze and sighed, shaking her head.

"Why February?" she whispered unexpectedly. "I _hate_ February."

Marshall backtracked, trying to imagine where this was coming from and not appear the fool. It was cold in February; cold and grey. Valentine's Day was in February, and Mary hated cupid, not to mention frilly paper hearts. They'd also been married in February, although toward the end of the month, and in a small ceremony. Her birthday was in February; they'd celebrated it over the weekend while she was laid-up in bed.

But, it was the triggering of the birthday that clued him in. Two days before year number seven was etched in Mary's mind forever. And now she had two days after to bookend her time of birth with equal misery. Who was that ill-fated?

"First my dad…" she moaned tragically, eyes cascading skyward. "And then this. Why does it have to happen like this?" she wagged her head at Marshall to display her disbelief. "How the hell am I ever going to make it through this month like a normal person ever again?"

Marshall wanted to say she would find a way to cope, because that was what she always did, but knew that would be of no assistance right now. She was, as he'd said, aimless. Lost and fearful and reeling sixteen different directions. But, before he could begin to contribute anything, she was off again.

"I _want_ my mother," the tears were drier and angrier now, making Marshall's hand fall from her cheek. "I _want_ my mother. I want Jinx. One of a handful of times I actually want her and she's not here anymore. What is wrong with me?"

She looked at Marshall like she really wanted him to tell her, but he was quicker than that, "Nothing is wrong with you," he murmured evenly. "Losing a parent is not easy…"

"I don't _have_ any parents!" Mary all-but burst, still streaming a flow she attempted to stem to no avail. "Why do I feel like I've lost both of them once or twice before, and now it's happening again?"

Marshall was pretty sure he understood what she was saying, and leaned over to place a kiss on her forehead, hoping this would settle her briefly. With the gesture, he was able to ascertain that her skin was still tingling with a fever. Fortunately, she sighed with the contact, shoulders slumping, head falling almost automatically onto the pillow at the headboard. Marshall placed a hand in her lap and spoke valiantly.

"When you really think about it…" he offered to begin, feeling her fingers curl around the hand he'd just rested in her middle. "It's true, as sad as that is. You lost your dad when he abandoned you, and then again when he died. You even misplaced Jinx for awhile – a long while, granted – when she was drinking. I can't imagine how hard it must be for you to go through that twice…"

He well-remembered Mary's confession to him shortly after James had died, the night Robyn had been born. That was the same night Norah had started walking – the same night they'd kissed for the first time. A monumental evening, in every sense of the word.

_I'd just waited such a long time – just to have him leave again._

Not fair. She was right. First James, and then Jinx.

"I don't know what I'm going to do about Brandi…" she confessed in the midst of Marshall's memories, allowing her head to inch onto his shoulder, for he too had relaxed against the headboard. He could hear in her voice that the tears lingered, ready, in her throat, "I really don't know how she'll manage…"

Marshall understood the concern, and took it upon himself to start caressing her knee, "It'll be rough going for awhile," he admitted. "But, she's a big girl now. She's come a long way," it was important to remind the elder sister of this. "I think wanting to be there for Robyn and Max will be a good distraction."

Before Mary could agree or disagree with his assessment, there was a tentative, light knock on the wooden door. Mary's eyes flashed to the digital clock, which told her it was almost a quarter after nine. She then appealed to Marshall, anxiousness dancing in each line of her pale face.

"Mark's not still here is he?" she asked in a hushed voice. "It's late…"

"No, he left awhile ago…" Marshall explained with a fairly shrewd idea of who it might be. "It's probably Norah," he sighed, hoping putting such a heavy task on Mary's shoulders wouldn't increase her stress level.

She wouldn't want to show her vulnerabilities in front of her daughter, but it was going to take stamina she might not possess.

"I sort of told her she could say goodnight if you were up…" he shrugged. "But, I thought she'd dozed off already."

Rapidly, he tried to read Mary's features as concisely as possible, if she considered this a burden too great to bear. It seemed she was assuming none of the children had been let in on the news, not with all the cloak-and-dagger.

"I can go out there…" he fabricated without waiting for a response. "She'll understand…"

"No…" Mary interrupted quicker than Marshall was anticipating, and he immediately saw her start dabbing under her eyes and sitting up a bit higher. "Tell her to come in; we'll make it short."

Marshall wanted to question her motives here, wanted to question whether it was healthy for Mary to put on a charade for Norah. But, he knew the girl was likely to get impatient if he stalled any longer. The best he could do was follow Mary's direction; if she wanted to fake it, she could do it.

"Come in!"

In the back of his mind, Marshall hoped he hadn't woken Alice, but soon became too preoccupied with the face on the other side of the door. Carefully, Norah edged her way through the crack, like she was afraid of breaking something. She wore her typical pajamas; the same she'd worn as a very small child. Although these days, the giant T-shirt was accompanied by a pair of plaid bottoms. She claimed to have reached an age where, no matter how long the shirt, underpants weren't enough to conceal the lower half.

Marshall, however, was not the least bit concerned with her sleepwear. He was too busy with the look of pure release that spread through Norah's young, innocent face. Whatever misgivings she'd had were gone, only to be confirmed at a later date, Marshall thought with a pang. But, Mary was here; Mary was awake, Mary was talking, and that made all right with the world.

"Hey Bug…" his wife projected in a falsely bright voice that was so forced it made Marshall ache.

With the hello, Norah grinned once more and took a flying leap onto the bed, wiggling herself between Mary and Marshall to get at her mother. This was an action she'd given up with age – and Alice hoarding the middle of the bed – but it seemed the evening of secrets had taken its toll. She wanted to be encompassed.

"Did I wake you up, mom?"

"No…" Mary replied at once, shaking her head. "Nope, Marshall took care of that…" she snuck in a sniffle with a thin smile. "I'm sorry I missed you today, love. I just…"

"I know," Norah cut-in; all of a sudden banking on every story she'd heard throughout the afternoon. "Dad and Marshall said your flu kind of got worse again, and that you just needed to rest some more."

Marshall was less astounded than he would've thought that Norah had up-and-decided to believe them. But, he knew she cared enough about Mary in that she didn't want to give her unnecessary anguish over possible fibs.

"Yeah…" Mary nodded. "That's kind of it."

Norah chose to ignore the 'kind of' and pressed on, "Alice woke up once already. She wanted a glass of water, but I got it for her and now she's sleeping again."

Marshall was pleased, knowing she hadn't wanted to bother either of them, "You're a good girl, beautiful…" he promised, patting her head. "I know Alice can be tricky sometimes; hang in there."

"Well…" Norah shrugged. "Since mom's had to hang in, I guess I can too."

Marshall saw the shift in one fell swoop; it was the admiration that pulled Mary back into the pit. The woman knew she had never been like this with Jinx; she'd never worshipped the ground she'd walked on at any age. Norah adored Mary, just as Alice adored Marshall and Robyn adored anyone who gave her the time of day.

But for Mary, it was that mark of a daughter wanting to do right by her mother. She'd run her limit on that now, and didn't know how successful she'd been in the time she'd had.

"I want you to get to sleep now, Bug…" she said murkily as a means to cover. "School tomorrow."

"Yup…" Norah sighed, disgruntled but accepting, and scooted herself back to the end of the bed and off the mattress. "Night mom…" she turned when she was halfway to the door, the eyes that were Mark's swirling back with relief and acceptance. "I hope you feel better tomorrow."

Mary made herself nod, a feeling of dismay in the well of her gut, knowing she wasn't likely to feel better tomorrow – or even any time soon.

XXX

**A/N: Thank-you to anyone who is taking the time to look in on this. As I said, I know how busy the holidays can be.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Merry Christmas Eve to those who celebrate! As usual, I continue on with the posting since it is not hard to do when the story is already written!**

XXX

Mary woke at dawn the next morning, groggy and disoriented, but unable to go back to sleep. She supposed her elongated nap from the day before meant her body just wasn't going to allow her to rest any further. It was itching for her to get out of bed; the covers were too hot now, the sheets too tangled, and the pillow no longer comfortable. It was a quarter 'till six when she finally rolled out and left Marshall snoozing in the darkness.

In any case, her mind was too preoccupied for her to stay under anyway.

That was why Mary sat at the round kitchen table, sipping coffee and sliding the mug back-and-forth between her hands to keep them warm. She was trying to imagine what lay ahead. She'd handled James' death when he'd passed, but known deep in her heart that it wouldn't have mattered if she'd decided it was too hard. Jinx and Brandi would've decided what to do, and she'd have been off the hook. Not to mention, there had been no one to answer to when it came to James; nobody would've been expecting a funeral.

Jinx would have co-workers, AA buddies, students, maybe even people from her past. She also had children and grandchildren. There were plenty to answer to on this go-around.

Despite all this, Mary's brain couldn't entirely stay in focus. She was wandering; vacant and daydreaming. The morning's pink light rose ever-so slowly on a frost-dusted ground outside the kitchen window, and Mary found herself contemplating how cold it might be. It reminded her, dimly, of the day before Alice had been born that Thanksgiving four years ago. It had been brisk and cloudy that year, and Mary had spent the entire twenty-four hours prior to her youngest daughter's birth attempting to stay in the house and ward off 'help.' It had also been raining, something that differed from present day.

It wasn't such a mystery why her glassed-over gaze had landed upon this today. Brandi had been with her through the morning that time in November, because Marshall had-had to go to the office. But, then her sister had to trot off to work, and so Jinx showed up instead.

Jinx.

_Mary was huffing and puffing, but pretending to sigh through her nose when her mother stepped through the front door. It was her back that was really hurting her. She'd practically been doing laps around the kitchen table, at Joanna's request that she 'move things along.' It hadn't had much effect so far, and only made her spine ache when her belly wasn't tightening._

"_Hi angel…" Jinx sang as she floated into the living room, tossing her purse to the couch. _

"_Hi…" Mary exhaled, too focused on finding a spot for her hands to rest on her lower back to be annoyed right away. "Brandi left…"_

"_Yes, I know…" Jinx waved this away with a sense of superiority, clearly beside herself with the opportunity assist her eldest daughter in labor. She tottered right into the kitchen where Mary was still pacing, trying to keep her mind off how long this might last before Marshall could take her to the hospital. "She had to work at three, right?"_

"_Something like that…" Mary managed gruffly. In protest of her three words, her back penetrated her vertebrae with a nasty throb which made the pregnant one wince visibly. "Damn it…"_

_It forced her to breathe in and out a little more deeply and she stopped walking, not liking that Jinx was being privy to all this. She fought resisting when her mother fingered her hair lightly in response._

"_How far apart are your contractions, sweetheart?"_

"_That wasn't a contraction, it was my back…" Mary informed her snidely with her eyes shut._

"_How far apart?" Jinx dug, firmer this time._

_Mary still had to gather some more air before the pulse began to taper, knowing if it wasn't her spine, it was going to be her abdomen sooner rather than later. Even so, she shook her head and allowed her lids to ease themselves open to answer Jinx's question._

"_Eleven or twelve minutes still…" she reported, wondering how bedraggled she must look even this early in the game. "I tried to tell Brandi; they're too spaced out, I'm not sure this is it…"_

"_I think it probably is, honey," Jinx was not about to be deterred. "It'll start slow, you remember?"_

"_For normal people, maybe," Mary quipped, attempting to caress the muscles in her back while she spoke. "Norah was out in one afternoon."_

"_Norah was a rare case," Jinx reminded her, still stroking her hair. "You and Marshall don't want it sprung on you like that; trust me."_

"_Beats this…" Mary griped. "I'm losing my whole day thanks to her…" she gestured in the region of her rotund stomach._

"_It'll give you time to get used to it," Jinx decided with a nonchalant wave of her hand. "You're gonna be losing a lot more than just today once she shows up."_

"_You are just a fountain of comfort today, mom…" Mary responded, glaring darkly. With her eyes narrowed, she caught sight of the image outside the living room window, "Is it raining?"_

"_A miserable drizzle…" the other woman responded with a glance of her own, as though to confirm. "I don't even know why I bothered with my hair today; the wet ruins it in two seconds," she put a hand there to flatten it, which made Mary roll her eyes. Hair was so insignificant in the grand scheme._

_She also had no response to this and began her march around the table another time, but apparently she had stood sentry a second too long. Her back was now pounding and stiff to boot. She had to halt and splayed her hands over the table, trying to decide which was worse. Though the pain in her lower belly wasn't bad, her stomach felt funny and had been upset for most of the day._

_Jinx, most unfortunately, noticed this development._

"_Mary, if the walking isn't helping…"_

"_Joanna told me to do it," she interrupted, as though she was knowledgeable in this area, which was a laugh. "She said it'll speed up this nightmare."_

"_Well, she's right honey," Jinx confirmed, placing gentle fingers against Mary's hunched shoulder. "But, you may not be far enough in yet for it to do much good; it'll just exhaust you."_

"_Too bad we're already halfway there," she wanted to shake her mother's grip away._

"_Why don't you try a nap for a bit?" she suggested absurdly. "You'll need your rest if Marshall has to take you to the hospital in the dead of night."_

_Mary wanted to emit that cackling chuckle at this ridiculous thought but found she didn't have the energy. Sleeping in the middle of the afternoon was never something she relished, but she turned disgruntled at the thought that Jinx might actually be right. Staying on her feet had worn her out, since she was about the size of a house, and hurting to boot. She'd never last all the way until tomorrow, and possibly then some._

_Napping was the sensible thing to do. She hated sensible._

"_You expect me to sleep with my gut like this?" she retorted so Jinx wouldn't know she was warming to the advice._

_Regrettably, it appeared Mary didn't have much of a poker face at the moment, because Jinx gave a simpering smirk that about made her daughter ill on the spot. Without further ado, she took her arm and practically steered her back to the bedroom – like a car._

_Mary was put-out, "I am still mobile, believe it or not," she dripped with sarcasm. "Even carrying five-hundred extra pounds."_

_But, it was plain that Jinx was not listening. She was taking advantage, was what she was doing. She was using Mary when her defenses were low to play the doting, responsible mother. It was a trait she felt she had been denied for so many years in her drunken days._

"_Now, you get all comfortable, angel…" she instructed once they reached the bedroom. She immediately began rooting in the chest at the end of the bed, "Are you chilly? Do you want a blanket?"_

"_I'm roasting," Mary turned it down and eased herself rather ungracefully onto the mattress. _

_It was a three-step effort. First, she lowered herself down. Then, she slowly turned onto her side, which was more a roll than a turn at this point. Finally, she spent about ten minutes trying to get as relaxed as possible, which was highly unlikely. _

"_Mom, you really don't have to stay…" she told her once her head found the pillow and she began to shift into place. "There's nothing for you to do if I'm just lying here."_

"_Now, Mary…" that patronizing, sugary tone once again as she sat down on the edge of the bed. Patting her head, "Don't keep turning help away. It'll be a long couple of days; you want to get as much strength as you can."_

"_Heard it all before…" Mary groaned, deciding that reclining on her back almost dulled the ache. That meant she had to rotate her head to the left to face Jinx, "Marshall tells me at least six times a day."_

_The rain was louder in here, as the window was so much closer to Mary's ears. But, it was a rhythmic, soothing hum; the pitter-patter against the panes of glass. It blended nicely with the way Mary's chest rose and fell. Now that she'd gotten situated, she realized at once how tired she'd been. It was so nice to have the pillow swallowing her up; the charcoal shade of the sky seeping in a half-light into the room._

"…_He just wants to look out for you…" Jinx murmured in response to Mary's comment about Marshall._

_She didn't feel like answering just now. She closed her eyes instead, not entirely feeling her mother's lulling stroke. Her fingers were tender, pulling lightly through each strand of her honey blonde waves. It was comforting. It was a mother's touch._

_Mary thought that saying this might send Jinx into tears of joy, and so she opted to mutter incoherently instead._

"_I don't want Norah to worry about me…" she was already slurring, so taken in by the softness of her blankets underneath her enormity. "…When she gets home from school…"_

"_I can talk to her," Jinx offered, a voice and not a sight since her daughter's eyes were still closed. "I think Marshall already told her this morning that you weren't feeling good."_

_Mary wanted to probe her mother's glance to make her see how essential it was that Norah not fret, but couldn't make herself do it. If she opened up, she might not go back down again for a long time._

"_She might cry…" the ailing one reported, words mixing together. "Wake me if she does…"_

_A remote corner of Mary's mind recognized that no one would be willing to do this if it came to pass, thinking they could handle it. Her intention was to refute this, but she was too sleepy, and the rain was so droning, and Jinx's tangling in her hair had put her into a trance. It was all she could do to keep talking._

"_Just rest, sweetheart," was all Jinx said. But then, "It's natural for children to worry. You used to worry about me all the time."_

_It was something about that phrase that made Mary tune back in, that made her heart start beating a little faster. It didn't make sense. She'd worried about James, not Jinx. But, the more she considered, the more she realized it was true. She'd gone to pieces over Jinx as both an adult and a child._

_Reluctantly, she slipped her green eyes open. Identical green eyes stared back at her, impassive and kindhearted._

"_Well…"_

_Now that Mary had started speaking, she wasn't sure where that single word was going. It occurred to her a little too late that saying she'd had good reason to worry about Jinx wasn't overly diplomatic. She just trailed away, vision blurry and bleary on the swimming, milky face in front of her own._

"_Not just in your later years…" Jinx continued, as though she was reading her daughter's mind. "You were quite the little caretaker, before and after your father left."_

_Mention of James on this day of all days undoubtedly made Mary's expression go slack. She had to have frowned, because Jinx's eyes turned sad; her stroking hand turned a little rougher._

"_You'd run up to me with that aspirin…" she worked a light laugh in. "You'd call, 'Mommy, daddy said you had to take two!'" her voice took on a high falsetto that made Mary's head hurt. "One was never enough, 'Daddy said two!'"_

_Guilt was seeping into Jinx's doleful eyes, knowing she shouldn't have had a little girl that young who was quite literally keeping their mother alive. But, Mary felt differently. She felt like her and Norah had something in common, something she was rapidly beginning to doubt with the daughter on its way. She feared dealing with a Robyn-like miniature._

"_I still remember that scolding voice you had…" Jinx turned reminiscent now. "'Drink all the water, mommy!' 'It will make your head better, mommy!'"_

_Mommy. Mommy._

"Mommy? …MOMMY!"

Mary jumped so severely it gave her whiplash. Blinking dramatically at the sky outside the window, she saw that the sun had ascended completely over the mountains in the distance; clouds hanging low to dip against the tips. Unsure, she whirled around to see the clock on the microwave. It was almost seven – time for school.

With one more flicker of her lids, she faced Alice standing rather impatiently about two inches from her nose. It was shocking, at first. Of all four grandchildren, Alice without question resembled Jinx the most strongly. Between the dark curls and the pale quality of her skin; even with the baby blue eyes, she was almost a carbon copy. Right now, her nose was wrinkled in the expert way of her mother's, which caused Mary to snap in a little better.

"What, Alice?"

Not very charitably, but it would have to do. Alice appeared to overlook the fact that she'd very nearly had to slap her mother to get her to listen, and proceeded with her needs.

"Norah's in the bathroom and I have to go reeeeeaaaaaaaallllllly bad!" she whined theatrically, holding herself and jittering on the spot in what was unmistakably the potty dance. "Can I go in your room?"

It was clear she had been about two seconds away from, 'The hell with asking,' but Mary was grateful she had. She could hear the shower running meaning Marshall was indisposed and occupying their second restroom. She wasn't going to let Alice in there, because she'd sneak through the curtain and make him late for work.

"Daddy's taking a shower," she informed her, taking a sip of her coffee, which was now cold and gross. "You'll have to wait. Norah will be out in a minute."

Alice looked like she might die, "But, I really have to gooooooooo!" she stretched out each letter, something she had definitely picked up from Robyn. "I can't hold it!"

Mary was unintentionally short with her, "Try."

All this earned her was an irritated huff, but at least she quieted. Mary noted she was still in pajamas, and with Marshall in the shower, she wouldn't have had breakfast. She thought it best she make herself useful to acquaint her back to the real world. She couldn't afford to go strolling down memory lane when the girls didn't even know what was going on.

"What do you want to eat?" Mary asked, reminded forcefully of the morning prior as she stood, dumping the dregs of her coffee in the sink. "Cereal or toast?"

Alice clambered like a monkey onto one of the barstools at the island, "A strawberry pop-tart."

Mary was about to say that this wasn't a choice, and wondered in the back of her mind when she had become such a stickler for healthy breakfast. It was probably around the time Norah had started kindergarten. She'd gotten sick of the dirty looks from other mothers because she let her kids show up at school with treats for the first meal of the day.

"I said cereal or toast."

Alice moped, "Daddy lets me have pop-tarts."

Well, that was because Marshall shamelessly spoiled his daughter, Mary thought. It was her turn to sulk.

"You're stuck with me today," she speculated on when Alice would figure out that she wasn't in the mood for drama. "Cereal or toast, Little Bit?" she repeated.

Her youngest was apparently about as grumpy as her mother, and chose not to take no for an answer. She actually stomped her foot, which made no noise since her sock hit the metal frame of the barstool. Her dissatisfied expression reminded Mary so much of Jinx it was painful.

"I want a _pop-tart_!" she demanded. "Where's daddy?!"

Mary had been about to go for cereal and was halfway to opening the cabinet when she slammed it shut. Alice's willful disobedience didn't help the Jinx-recollections and she got testy in a hurry. Not to mention, wanting to be replaced for Marshall was sensitive business.

"I said you couldn't have one!" Mary's voice rose. "Eat cereal! It won't kill you!"

For a split-second, Mary thought Alice was going to scream again – this time at full-volume. She was much more defiant than Norah; a cross between Mary herself and Robyn. But, it was her tendency to revert to waterworks that made her so much like Marshall – both for silly reasons and for endearing reasons. However, the mother wasn't expecting her to regress right that second, but her azure eyes filled at warp-speed and her hands clasped over her mouth.

"Alice, don't cry…!" Mary was really fed-up now, unable to fathom the thought that she had a child so unlike herself.

Just as Jinx had.

"It's…not…!"

Alice was blubbering beneath her fingers so Mary didn't even catch what she said, but it sounded like the meal wasn't the problem anymore.

"What?" she stepped closer to her, trying to figure out what was wrong now.

Unfortunately, the mere anger in Alice's young face had altered to fear at that moment – Mary knew she wasn't scared of her own mother. She was used to Mary, just as Norah was. But, she was afraid to tell her something, and Mary didn't have the patience for it this morning.

"What?" she goaded again.

And then, "I went in my jammies."

It was a mortified and – Mary had guessed right – frightened whisper beneath blotchy red cheeks. Alice was a smart kid; she'd pissed her mother off already and was afraid of doing it again. At the admission, Mary's wild eyes flashed to her daughter's pink star pajamas and saw she was absolutely correct. There was a dampness seeping through the fabric, darkening the pink to red.

Mary knew she shouldn't have reacted as she did, but she was tired and she was miserable. She was having to fake it when she just couldn't anymore. She'd lost her mother and had to keep it a secret.

An enormous exhale, "Alice…!"

"I told you I had to go!" she wailed.

Mary wanted to apologize the minute she embarrassed her daughter, but she was too caught up in the moment. She wasn't cut out for this; this particular brand of mystery. She just pulled Alice off the barstool and into her arms, not for reassurance, but to clean her up. She rarely had accidents, and had potty-trained well, but every now and then it snuck up on her.

Unluckily, she also wasn't done being difficult and wiggled around in Mary's grasp, "Where's daddy?!" she repeated. "I want daddy to help me!"

"Alice, I can help you…" Mary's timbre was still up there, even despite attempting to use more sensitive phrases. "I know how to do everything daddy does!"

"No-no!"

The protest carried them all the way down the hall, where Mary had planned on banging on the door to the hall bathroom, when Marshall himself emerged. His hair was still wet and his shirt was unbuttoned, but he'd undoubtedly heard the commotion. His bright eyes took in the scene; Mary breathless, Alice crying, and he got to work at once.

"What's going on?"

"Alice wet her pants," Mary informed him swiftly while the mentioned continued her plea.

He didn't quite get it and tried to be sweet, "Oh, bummer sugar…" he reached to pat Alice's arm, but Mary swung her out of reach.

"I've got it."

She didn't know why, but the adrenaline pumping through her veins was suddenly making Mary feel stand-offish even toward Marshall. She didn't know what was wrong with her; last night she'd been in a shambles, but had felt a strange comfort as well. This morning she was still in a shambles, but radiating with rage. It was a lot harder to grieve when you were livid.

Marshall quirked an eyebrow, seeing his wife was not to be tampered with. But, he also knew leaving her and Alice alone while his daughter bellowed at the top of her lungs probably wasn't the best idea.

He proceeded delicately, "Are you sure?" he ventured, hand suspended in midair. "It's no trouble…"

"I said I've got it!" Mary burst, hitching Alice's damp form a little higher.

"Well okay, but…"

"But, what?!"

"Mary…" his voice lowered to an urgent whisper, unlikely to be overheard with Alice's objection. "Don't…"

Like it wasn't bad enough their baby preferred him, now he had to tell her how to behave?

"Don't start out like this…"

"Start out like _what_?!" her tone lifted ever-higher. "I can help her perfectly well…!"

"And so can I…"

But, all of a sudden, there came a far more sedate, much more rational voice from below that stopped the arguing.

"I can do it."

Mary flinched and Marshall balked at the sound; both of their eyes revolved to the floor to find Norah standing there. Alice even descended into quivers, gulping fast and wiping her eyes so she could be alert for the next phase. Mary was still startled, thinking the offer had been in her head. But no, her biggest kid was waiting to be given the green light to aide her sister. She verified it with her next words.

"I'll get Alice dressed…" she murmured, clearly a little bit thrown by the quarreling this early in the day. "I don't care."

Mary wanted to snap at her too, but Norah was the first voice of reason she'd been given today. It was probably best to let her get on with it, as big sister volunteering to assist the baby was not exactly common. But, she'd gotten the streak from Mary herself. When the younger _really_ needed it, you stepped up.

It was Marshall who accepted first, thankful for the opportunity to have a chance to talk to Mary away from the little pitchers with big ears.

"Would you, Norah?" he asked politely. "Thank-you."

"Whatever…" she shrugged, eyes not leaving Mary, who slid Alice onto the floor. "Where should I put her pajamas?"

"Throw them in the laundry room," Marshall directed. "I'll get them washed. Thanks, champ," he repeated.

Norah nodded and took Alice by the hand, leading her into their shared room to find something to wear. Mary had forgotten until this moment that Norah actually did have some experience getting Alice under control when she had accidents. They'd attended summer camp together one year and she'd wet her pants a few times. Norah had been enlisted to get her squared away, much to the relief of embarrassed counselors.

Even so, that time was fairly far from Mary's mind as she listened to the girls with their door closed, Marshall already having gone out to the kitchen. Their tones were sweet; tones they usually only adopted if no parents could hear. Neither wanted it out that they actually enjoyed each other's company on occasion.

"It's sticky…" Alice was saying.

"It's just damp," Norah's lower voice assured her. "You're lucky you wore underwear to bed."

Alice giggled at the undergarments being mentioned, "I messed up the chair," it turned ashamed quickly.

"Marshall will fix it," Norah decided.

Mary almost pressed her ear to the door to hear the rest, not wanting to go out and join Marshall. She knew she was in for a lecture, a talking-to of some kind. She was in no hurry.

"Mommy's really mad at me."

The sigh came quickly. She'd known in the moment it was wrong, but hadn't been able to stop herself. Her mouth all-too-often had a mind of its own, and today it had been on overdrive.

"She isn't," Norah promised. "Give her a break. She's been sick forever."

Mary's heart lifted slightly at hearing Norah take up for her, but their voices disappeared to make way for the sound of drawers opening and closing. She waited, curious, to see if there was anything else – if she could delay any longer.

"She was yelling at me."

"Well, that's what mom does…" Mary could picture Norah shrugging. "She yells. So what? She couldn't be a Marshal if she didn't know how to yell."

It was the fact that she _wanted_ to smile and found she couldn't that made Mary finally turn away from the door. She knew Marshall would come back for her if she didn't join him, and she knew she didn't want to have any conversation he was planning in front of the girls.

By the time she reached the kitchen, he had already gotten to work on the stool, cleaning it with something that made Mary wrinkle her nose and try not to inhale. Fortunately, when he saw her he put it to bed, depositing the rag he was using on the counter. Mary noted that his hair was still wet, and he had yet to finish dressing, shirt still undone.

"Mary…" he said in a hushed voice that held everything that was concern and nothing that was resentment. "Please, don't start closing in…" he knew her well; much too well. "It'll make everything harder – for you, for me, for the kids…"

"Well, I've taken care of that already, haven't I?" she groused, pretending to be aloof as she moseyed on past him toward the fridge. "Alice is ready to pummel me over a strawberry pop-tart."

Part of her wanted to add, 'And it's all your fault,' but she didn't. It probably wouldn't bother her tomorrow, and it wasn't worth firing up with Marshall again.

"I can speak to her," he swore. "After we explain what's happened, I can speak to her – I can speak to her and Norah…"

"You don't need to say anything to Norah," Mary cut-in. "I've got her covered."

Marshall was a little thrown but this, but resolved to leave it alone. Mary often chastised herself for being more protective and more centered with Norah than she was with Alice. She did not have a favorite, was her constant reminder. But, Alice really wasn't anything like her, and Norah was more grounded than her four-year-old. She could come up with every excuse in the book, but it didn't make her feel any better. She forever hypothesized that Alice picked up on her preferences.

After all, Mary herself had thought for years Jinx had-had a favorite too. It never slipped by her. Chances were, it didn't slip by Alice either.

She adored Alice. Mostly, she adored the way Marshall was with Alice. It was just more difficult when the kid made their choice too.

"I don't want to have this discussion today," she found herself requesting out of nowhere. "This, 'How I should grieve' discussion," she clarified. "The phone's going to be ringing off the hook by nine o'clock, I'm gonna have to see Brandi…" she sighed. "Leave this one for now, would you?"

It was said mainly with contempt, but with a little bit of yearning as well. Marshall knew the inner workings of her system well enough to pick up on both.

As it was, he deserted his scrubbing of the cushion, and made his way over to her; so close she had to back into the cupboards. But, his gaze was soft and understanding and Mary felt herself sinking into arms that were fast-curling around her sides. It wasn't a full embrace, but his touch was enough for now.

"There's only one condition on the grieving…" he whispered, fixing her with his penetrating blue stare.

It was likely to shatter Mary, then and there, if she weren't swallowing and waiting so hard for his response.

"It's that you do it with me."

XXX

**A/N: I hope everyone has a wonderful Christmas! I will still see you tomorrow, but definitely don't blame you if you do not have time to read – you will have far more important things to do!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Thank-you to you gems that are still reading even in the holiday hustle-and-bustle! I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas! I concede that this is not the cheeriest chapter for today, but I didn't plan it LOL!**

XXX

It was a long, agonizing, dreary day. Marshall insisted upon staying home, which Mary found ridiculous, but got sick of arguing with him and decided to forget it. Brandi and Peter dragged themselves through the door a little after nine, looking disheveled and distinctly droopy. Beneath renewed sobs expelling from Brandi at the sight of Mary, the elder sister was informed in an undertone that they'd had absolutely no sleep. By the look of them, she could've guessed.

After that, it was arrangement after arrangement, Mary knowing she was going to be expected to step up and put her feelings in a box for the sake of Brandi. It was apparent she would not be able to fall apart now that she was here. Judging from Marshall's face, he didn't approve of this method, but was smart enough not to say anything.

The morning was spent fielding phone calls, mostly from the parents of Jinx's students from the studio. Near as Mary could tell, they'd all heard but had waited almost twenty-four hours out of 'respect.' The woman struck a deal with Brandi, and they took turns answering the buzzing cell. Each parent was kind and sympathetic, telling touching stories of how Jinx had been so devoted to the little ballerinas. It made Brandi cry, and it made Mary's heart wrench each time she heard her mother put on a pedestal.

The sisters locked themselves in the bedroom as the afternoon wore on. They'd enlisted the men – Mark included – to break the news to the kids when they got home from school. Mary wanted to be there, but Brandi claimed she couldn't handle it. Despite wanting to protest, Mary thought she was probably right.

Therefore, she sat cross-legged on her bed while Brandi lay sprawled on her stomach and they attempted to set a date for the funeral. Papers were strewn all over the mattress; pens with their caps missing, crumpled notes long since discarded.

"I'm worried we won't be able to get everything together by the weekend," Mary explained, hand over her eyes, as Brandi suggested Saturday once again. "Not with a visitation too; we'd have to have that tomorrow or Thursday."

"But, I don't want to wait…" Brandi leaned her chin in her hand sadly, her eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed from crying. "I don't want to drag it into the next week."

"Squish, I know, but…" she sighed, rubbing her temples, grateful her fever had gone down so she could attempt to function properly. "It's a ton of work; the only place that even had an opening on Saturday was that Catholic Church down in Nob Hill…"

"What was wrong with it?" Brandi asked softly. "They seemed nice…"

"They were; it's just…"

Mary couldn't explain her desire to stretch this out; her reasoning had nothing to do with the workload. Having the funeral sooner meant she would have to deal with it sooner, and she'd never been good at that. If they hung on, she could procrastinate on moving forward without Jinx.

Her sentence trailed and she shut her eyes again, trying to gather the strength not to start snapping. Brandi sensed she'd been whining and at least made the effort to turn her attitude around.

"What about Sunday?" she posed, flipping through notes in front of her splayed body. "It'll probably be harder to get in, but…"

"We can't do it Sunday," Mary interrupted with a plausible excuse this time. "AA is on Sunday; that'll cut out half the guest list. All those former drunks might hit the bottle again if they miss it."

Mary really hadn't been trying to be funny, but the sarcasm had slipped out of feeling caged in. She knew it was unfair to pin labels on her mother's acquaintances, but it was irritating her more than she'd cared to admit that Jinx had finally managed to make friends. She'd never had the same luck.

Brandi frowned, closing up the notebook paper, "You don't have to talk about them that way," she wasn't accusatory, but upset. "They were mom's friends. She'd be really unhappy if they couldn't come."

This irked Mary too. Jinx couldn't _be_ unhappy, because Jinx wasn't _here_. Why was that concept lost on everyone?

"It wasn't supposed to be an insult," Mary fabricated without looking Brandi in the eye, not wanting to see them filled with tears. "I'm just not gonna be responsible if they fall off the wagon. We could all use a few drinks, quite honestly…"

But, it was apparent that in spite of the fact that Mary was attempting to down her usual acidity that she'd made Brandi mad. To Mary's surprise, she wadded up the ball of paper in front of her with a loud crunching sound. It made the oldest look up, at the very least. Brandi's large blue eyes were blazing, droplets spilling over like a waterfall in the Amazon. Her cheeks had gone red to boot.

"This isn't funny!" she burst. "Do you _have_ to do this? Why do you have to act like this – like you don't even care?! Can you pretend you have feelings for half a second?!"

It stung Mary more than she'd anticipated, thinking back to how she'd wallowed the day before, but Brandi didn't know about that. She didn't intend to bring it up, either. If it made her anything like the woman weeping in front of her, she was happy to have it stay in the vault. She wasn't a child, and could deal with this perfectly well – in her own way, in her own time.

Never mind all the February-esque memories invading with everything going on. James jogging off the doorstop; her crappy, crummy seventh birthday in the middle of a Jersey winter. James gasping for air and oozing blood was penetrating as well, even though that hadn't been in February. The last thing she needed was to start thinking about her father.

He should've been here. If he were a normal father, he would've been. He'd have been helping her deal with this.

"Just because my feelings aren't the same as yours doesn't mean I don't have any," Mary finally responded coolly. "Could we do this later?" she requested. "The funeral, I mean. The kids just walked in," she'd heard the door.

That was no reason to stop, according to the plan. They'd decided not to be in the room when all hell broke loose, but somehow working through it didn't seem right. Mary felt like she needed to be at the ready – prepared, somehow. Brandi, fortunately, sighed and seemed to agree, casting her notes aside.

They were silent for minutes as time ticked on. Mary busied herself stacking up their documents and placing them in a pile on her dresser. Brandi pushed off her stomach and sat, legs dangling over Mary's side of the bed. Her hands were clasped near her middle, and she was churning them left to right – nervous-energy and apprehension.

Mary assumed her little sister didn't necessarily want to be near her after her outburst, and so she sat on Marshall's side of the bed facing the window, backs to one another. As she sat, she contemplated what was going on outside the door, but Brandi didn't give her much time to consider.

"Robyn will be devastated," she intoned through the gloom.

Mary wasn't sure whether she expected a response to this pronouncement. But, it made it easier to contribute when she didn't have to look at Brandi.

"I don't know…" she whispered in a would-be-calm sort of way. "Maybe."

"Maybe?"

Mary backpedaled, "I don't mean…" she paused to try and get her head on straight. "Just that…Robyn is a tougher kid than we give her credit for," she clarified. "I didn't mean she wouldn't or shouldn't be upset."

It was her way of apologizing for earlier, and Brandi took it, "I know," her voice sounded sweeter on the opposite side, albeit far away. "I'm not sure what Max is going to think…"

Mary brushed that one aside, hoping to give her sister one less thing to worry about, "Max will hang in there," she assured her confidently, noticing outside the window that it was a little sunnier today. "He's a good boy."

What she meant was that Max wasn't going to cause them additional grief. It was selfish of Mary, but she liked that he was even-tempered and not as reckless with his emotions. She couldn't be entirely certain why he was that way – whether it was by nature or by choice, but often convinced herself of the former.

Mention of her nephew brought the youngest into the conversation, however, and Mary took her turn at expressing fears, "Alice has never really had to handle death," she almost rotated back to face Brandi, but decided against it. "Marshall's going to have to do some heavy-lifting if she gets mixed-up about what it means…"

She was about to go on, but the end of the statement was scared clear out of the room by the sound of a distraught, disbelieving shout on the other end of the house. It made Mary's shoulders sink and her heart rate pulse against her ribs.

"_WHAT?!"_

She heard the exhale from Brandi, but her mind was working furiously trying to figure out to whom the voice belonged. It was a girl's, so Max was out of the question. Too hysterical to be Norah – too mature to be Alice.

Robyn.

"_Why are you saying that?! …She is not!"_

The spell of obliviousness had been broken. The magic had died. The gloves were off. They knew. And one in particular had plainly not taken it well in the least.

"That's Robyn…" Brandi moaned, confirming it for both. Mary finally turned around, knowing she couldn't avoid it, and saw that the blonder's head was bent, face cradled in her hands. "Mare, I don't know how I'm gonna do this; I don't know what I'm gonna say…"

Well, Mary was short on advice there, and Brandi's brand new bawling was invading her ability to think. But, she knew she was already feeling guilty for having snapped at her – for attempting to joke, even poorly. Mary really wasn't getting the short end of the stick on this one. Alice, the more sensitive of her children, would want Marshall. Norah was unlikely to go to pieces, unless she was upset about having been lied to, in which case she would blame Mark. Mary was off the hook.

"_I want to talk to mom!"_

The men's voices were getting more serious now, and Mary knew they could not delay much longer. She forced herself to stand, the bedroom filling with the anguish in Brandi's heart. Slowly, and without a word, she made her way to her baby sister. Lightly, and with the affection she had not sported earlier, she curled an arm around her back and kissed her hair. She didn't sit down; they did not embrace. But, it was the push she was going to need, and Mary allowed her lips to linger on her short, coarse hair before pulling away.

Completely impassive and with a hard squeeze of her shoulder, "Come on…" a whisper. "Let's go."

Reluctantly, Brandi did nod, and she followed suit by getting to her feet. Mary waited patiently until she could gather a little more of a neutral expression, which was futile at best but it would have to do. They stepped together; they turned the knob together; they ventured into the hall.

Together.

The scene that met them in the living room was most unpleasant. Norah and Max were sitting on the far end of the couch near the door, their eyes wide and confused. Max's looked even larger beneath his glasses. Mark, Marshall, and Peter were stationed on the coffee table in front of them, with Alice already having crawled onto her father's lap. She looked frightened and perplexed, the beginnings of tears sparkling in her pupils. But it was Robyn who was standing; Peter held one of her arms, like he'd wanted to keep her from going off the deep end.

Seven sets of eyes flickered like strobe lights to the arch in the hall upon hearing footsteps. Robyn was far and away the most in tune to the development, Mary thought. Her gaze met her mother's and aunt's in complete incredulity. She was horrified.

She also seized the chance and broke away from Peter, "Did you _hear_ what they said?" she demanded, jutting her finger out and appealing to Brandi. "Mom, did you hear them?" she repeated. "They said something happened to Jinx – that she's _dead_! Why would they say that?"

It was plain; to Mary at least, that Robyn was not at all fooled. The look on her face said she believed what she'd heard, but was desperate for someone to blame. To find someone to take away the pain she'd just had inflicted.

"Robyn…honey…" Brandi's voice broke, but she managed to keep it together as she reached out and smoothed her daughter's stick-straight hair. "Jinx really wasn't well, and we just didn't know…"

"There wasn't anything wrong with her!" Robyn insisted in her best theatrical voice, but she didn't look so much like a diva anymore. This was a performance she had not planned on giving. "She couldn't dance like she did if she were sick!" she rationalized. "She was the best dancer in the whole world!"

Mary thought _she_ might cry then, and she resisted reaching out and touching her niece, because she wasn't sure if Robyn would like it. There was such strong loyalty and such strong devotion in that one phrase. Mary knew she'd never said anything to her mother that was in that realm.

"She was a beautiful dancer…" Brandi whispered in an attempt to placate her, but Robyn didn't bite. Everybody else stayed frozen, watching the scene unfold. "She taught you really well."

"She has to _keep_ teaching me!" the little girl maintained her claim, but Mary could see her thinning. Peter's deep green eyes, laced with sorrow at seeing his daughter so flustered; Mary and Brandi confirming in not-so-many words. She was running out of room to fight. "I have my recital next month! Jinx has to be there…!"

Brandi was tiring too and was about to cut to the chase, "She can't sweetheart; I wish she could…"

Robyn obviously thought Brandi would not lie and she finally gave in. That, and the fact that she knew Jinx would only miss a recital _for_ death – and that was it. The sobs were loud and ugly, as Mary had known they would be. Brandi cast Peter a tormented glance, and he stood to join his wife and child.

"Robyn, come here…" Brandi murmured. "Come here, baby…"

Mary stuck around just long enough to see Robyn collapse against Brandi's midsection, the tears no less muffled, which earned her pat after pat on the back. Each wail was punctuated crudely with pleas for a woman who wasn't coming.

"She has to help me. She has to teach me. I was gonna be a dancer like her…"

Mary abandoned the spectacle, leaving Robyn to her parents, and stumbled to the coffee table. Mark had wandered away, hands in his pockets, and distinctly uncomfortable. Marshall was rocking Alice, who had her head over his shoulder where she sat on his lap. Her tears were glittery and bewildered, little shakes accompanying each cry.

"Shh…" Marshall soothed while Mary looked on. "Jinx adored you, sugar," he promised. "She really did; don't ever forget that."

"I don't understand why she left…" Alice shuddered miserably. "Why would she leave if she loved me?"

Mary's heart could not take much more of this, especially not with Robyn being led to the bedroom because she was so distressed. Fortunately, Marshall knew he had a job to do, and he was going to do it well.

"Because she didn't leave on purpose, gorgeous…" a name he'd given both Alice and Norah. "She got sick and couldn't get any better," he explained, still swaying her side-to-side. "Her heart and her brain stopped working right; she couldn't stay here with us anymore."

It was plain Alice was still pretty lost, but her next question proved to Mary she got it well-enough indeed, "I'll never see her again?"

Marshall had seen Mary standing there, even though his body was angled toward the front window. His blue eyes skittered to find her, having heard the dismay in Alice's tiny voice. Mary knelt and kissed the crown of her baby's head, fingering those dark, rich curls springing down her neck.

Marshall answered just as she strode away, knowing she would be of no help to her youngest, "I'm afraid not."

Mary needed some clarity here; that was why she was sliding away from the chaos. She felt like she was having an out-of-body experience and knew she should do something; knew she should assist in some way, but she felt like she was in a trance. And when she finally made it to her last post that was exactly how Norah and Max looked – like they were in a trance.

They were just sitting there, Norah gaping slightly; Max's face a total blank. They managed to zero in on Mary, who found it buried deep within to get a few words out her mouth.

"Norah?" she whispered, throat dry as though she hadn't used it for days. "Bug, are you okay?"

Her daughter blinked and closed her lips; she bit on her bottom one, as though thinking. Mary wasn't entirely sure what she'd expected her to say to such a foolish question, but it appeared Norah wasn't offended.

She nodded, "I guess," it was noncommittal, but convincing.

Mary turned her attentions to the boy, "What about you, Max?" she took care to ask. "You all right, bud?"

This might as well have been a rhetorical question, because Mary knew even before she spoke that Max was going to say he was fine whether he was or not. He never wanted to rock the boat; he never wanted to have a voice or be heard or cause trouble. He was so introverted that he rarely engaged, even with people he'd known his whole life. Mary often suspected this was because he'd grown up with three girls and been hen-pecked, but couldn't say for sure.

As it was, he seemed to grab hold of Norah's steady demeanor and nodded as well.

He swallowed, "Yeah."

Mary despised herself for thinking it, but the gratitude she felt toward these two for not falling apart was overwhelming. They were making her job a lot easier, but it also made her wonder. Norah hadn't always been guarded with her feelings; she'd cried as easily as any other child, especially before Mary and Marshall were married. But anymore, she'd kept to herself, and Max was habitually steady as a rock.

Norah interjected in the midst of the disarray once more, "You were hiding yesterday because of Jinx, right? That was why we had to go to Grandma's," she said the last bit with more conviction, but was not accusatory.

"Yeah…" Mary ran a finger under nose so she wouldn't drip. "Just trying to get all our ducks in a row; we didn't want to dump it on you guys before we could wrap our brains around it."

She was pretty sure they still hadn't made this stride yet, but they were in very deep now; cats were squalling from being let out of the bag.

Norah paused in her questionnaire, a little distracted by the noise from Robyn and her sister, but eventually kept on. It was easy to see that Max was going to stay silent, crystal-clear eyes taking everything in.

"Marshall said your liver sometimes fails easier if you drink a lot," she stated knowingly, but with discretion, like it was risky to speak too loudly. "Is that what happened to Jinx?"

Mary shrugged, "Probably."

Norah nodded, but Mary actually noticed Max this time. The whites of his lids had sparked at hearing the explanation, like he was alarmed. Mary wrinkled her brow, but chose not to comment since he didn't say anything. Evidently, Norah was finished as well and she got off the couch, glancing awkwardly around like she wanted to leave but didn't know where to turn.

"Dad said he wasn't going to stay long…" she offered lamely. "I should tell him goodbye."

Mary agreed, not wanting her to stay if she felt misplaced, "All right, love."

With that, Norah made her way toward the door without another word, not quite at the age where she recognized apologies were in order when there was a death in the family. She was young, and she would learn. Mary's radar as a mother knew she was sorry whether she said it or not.

Norah's departure left Mary alone with Max, who was running his hands up and down the legs of his jeans. His aunt felt a pang of pity for him; he must feel he had no outlet at the moment. His mother and father were both dealing with his virtually hysterical sister, and the cousin he was closest to had just left.

Nonetheless, he'd been partial to Mary since day one, and now was no exception. Without even thinking about it, her feet took her the two steps to be directly in front of her nephew. His right hand went to her thigh at first, floating there and slightly unsure. Mary looked down at him, and saw only Brandi in his innocent, precious face. From the blue eyes to the sandy mop of hair, he channeled his mom from within – whether he was anything like her or not.

And Mary took the hand he offered and his other one as well. Her palms slid from fingers and grasped his waist. In two seconds, he was off the couch and in her arms, legs wound and arms coiled in place. His chin bumped onto her shoulder and she sighed, trying to revel in the calm Max projected – the sheer basic simplicity.

Six words was a lot for him, but they carried right into her ear, "I really liked Jinx a lot."

Mary might've let even the most minimal smile escape and found herself squeezing him in against her chest.

"You know something, Max…" she whispered. "I liked her a lot too."

XXX

**A/N: I hope I didn't bum anyone out on their Christmas! But, now the kiddies know – even though it hurts. :(**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank-you very much for continuing to read and review! **

XXX

Mary slept very badly that night. She wanted to hit herself for having spent so much time napping the day before. The men could've claimed she needed it until they were blue in the face; she was paying for it now. It also didn't help that she was beginning to feel very trapped in the house. By the time Robyn calmed down, it was close to dinnertime and Brandi asked, as politely as possible, if they could stay the night. Marshall had checked with his wife first, but she'd known she couldn't say no. Peter returned home, but the kids jammed themselves into the girls' room and Brandi crashed on the couch.

Her sister might have the ability to shut down all the horrific thoughts that had entered into their midst, but Mary couldn't manage. She tossed and turned for hours, bursts of dreams exploding into her subconscious for only minutes at a time before she was jerked awake once more. When she finally did succumb for real, it was with a feeling of being careful what she'd wished for.

_She was in a church that looked more like a cathedral. The ceiling was higher than the sky itself, stretching and coiling into oblivion above Mary's head. She'd never seen anything like it in New Mexico, and thought she must be overseas somewhere; basking in some rich and glorious culture she had yet to experience._

_It was funny, as soon as the thought entered her mind that she wasn't anywhere familiar, she knew she was still in Albuquerque. She was home, although with that distinct sensation of being lost nonetheless._

_There were candles flickering eerily near the pulpit, catching the stained glass in the high windows. The glass warbled, deep reds and blues bleeding into one another behind the black stripes that put the panes together. Mary thought perhaps she could see the sun beyond the glass, but the shades were too rich; too dazzlingly bright for her to determine whether there was warmth behind or not._

_She was wearing black; black pants, a black button-up, and a black blazer. It was very formal-looking, almost too-formal, like she'd been headed to court. Her father's medallion swung lazily from her neck, and her hand reached up to clutch the metal against her knuckles. It spread a sense of peace from her fingertips to her feet, and she sighed._

_Below her, Jinx lay motionless and static in a casket. She looked unnatural, even for Jinx. Her red lipstick stood out vibrantly against her whitish skin. Her cheeks had been smacked with rouge, like whoever had tended to her had gotten carried away. With a lurch, Mary realized her mother didn't look anything like she should. Mary was embarrassed, but knew she shouldn't say anything. She should pay her respects as she had been schooled._

_Before she could begin to say a word, she heard footsteps. Surprisingly, they didn't startle her. It was as though she expected them, even if she couldn't say to whom they belonged. With a slow turn that lifted her gaze from Jinx, she revolved on her heels to see James striding boldly up the aisle. _

_Mary's breath caught in her throat at the sight of him. He was tantalizing, like the treat she'd been standing on her tiptoes for her entire life. She was finally tall enough to reach, and it was miraculous. He was beautiful in this unique way that rarely belonged to a man. There were his chiseled cheeks; his thick, coarse grey hair that curled into sideburns on his flesh. His cobalt eyes shone like the most elegant stars above. She wanted him, and he was coming just for her._

_James stopped at the head of the aisle, paused momentarily, and crossed himself before moving on. He bent his head upward and smiled in that adoring way that made Mary's heart both clench and soar. She squashed the pain it was causing her and whispered to his graceful form._

"_Daddy, you're here…"_

_Again, with the smile. He held out his arms and drew her inward; Mary loved this, this feeling of being taken in, of knowing there was someone who was going to handle everything. She couldn't say for sure why she trusted James just now, but she did. He'd shown up, hadn't he?_

"_I wouldn't be anywhere else in the world but here, sweetheart."_

_His voice was gruff, but deep in her ear. It was hard to let him go. After all, she hadn't been able to hug him when he'd shown up at her door._

"_Poor Ginger…" he murmured sympathetically from where he could see over Mary's shoulder. "Such a future…"_

_Mary was about to agree with him when a shocked, shrill voice interrupted their grip. It was high-pitched and affronted; it was what was going to make this dream a very real nightmare._

"_Mary, what are you doing?!"_

_They were forced to break apart, and Mary felt herself go weak in the knees when a second individual came tottering up the carpet. She blinked about six times, still feeling James' hand on her forearm. _

"_How could you let him come here?!" Jinx hollered._

_Confused did not even scratch the surface. Mary did not understand in the least. Jinx was dead – lying right here in the casket. How could she be standing in front of her as well? And all of a sudden, the idea that she'd just groveled over James was sickening. What had she been thinking?_

_Sickening in more ways than one. James – he was dead too._

_The best she could do was defend herself, "I…mom, I didn't…" she stumbled over her words. "I didn't ask him to come…"_

_Dead or not, she didn't want Jinx to be mad at her. Didn't her approval matter more than her father's?_

"_I didn't invite him," she insisted. "How could you think I'd do something like that – that I'd let him show up after what he did to us?"_

_Her conviction wasn't going to have a shot with Jinx, who was plainly furious, "You have always loved your father, Mary," she stuck a hand on her hip and glared at both of them. "You have always loved him more than me."_

"_What?" the daughter could hardly believe her ears. "Mom, no I haven't – I don't…"_

_Did Jinx really think that? Mary had to make her see; had to help her figure out that her father meant nothing. Nothing at all. She'd just been thrown, was all. She'd seen a dead man walking toward her. She hadn't known what to do._

_Unfortunately, James was making things infinitely worse. He caressed her arm now, and then his hand moved to finger the medal around her neck. He was grinning, seemingly not listening to a word Jinx was saying._

"_You were my best little girl, partner…" he promised. "You were my favorite, sweetheart."_

"_How dare you?" Jinx hissed, jutting her finger out at the pair of them. "How dare you choose sides, after all the work I did trying to be a better mother. It doesn't mean anything to you; you still want him! Nothing replaces your father!"_

"_I don't care what he says!" Mary burst, whipping to face the Jinx in the casket, who was still just lying there. _

_Why were there two of them? She couldn't think straight with all this happening so fast. Which one was real?_

"_He lost his chance!" she went on, desperate to make Jinx believe her. "I'm not giving him anymore! Mom, I swear! If you come home…"_

"_You have your father," Jinx spat the final word, disgusted, and turned to leave them. "You don't need me."_

_She was walking away. Mary was losing her, and she was never going to come back. She had to stop her – she wanted Jinx, not James. She wanted Jinx. She wanted Jinx. She told herself that over and over again and finally her feet allowed her to run. She broke free and tried to bolt for her mother._

_James' strong hand was still on the necklace and it caught the chain. He tugged backward to attempt to free himself, but the coils severed into pieces before their very eyes. They fell, like tiny golden diamonds, onto the carpet of this magnificent church. Mary wanted to pick it up, but she needed Jinx more._

_She ran and ran and couldn't catch up. _

"_Mom! Mom, wait!"_

"_Come back, partner…"_

"_Mom! Please!"_

Mary woke, twitching violently and gasping for air. The room was pitch black, and it took several minutes for her to realize where she was. Even then, she wasn't entirely certain, and the cavern-quality of her surroundings made her feel as though she'd fallen headfirst into a hole. Her breathing was so loud she was starting to squeak, and her hand was trembling, pasted to her chest where her necklace used to be. She even patted the space to see if she could find it, and then she remembered.

It was gone. It had been gone for ten years. James had sold it to that street vendor in pursuit of freedom.

When no light flickered into her line of vision, Mary began to feel desperate. She was clammy and moist and there was no one here to tell her what was going on. The last she recalled was screaming for Jinx, and she was still caught in that anxiety.

"Mom…?"

Her voice came out very croaky, and saying it aloud made her realize how ludicrous she was behaving. It had been a dream. Her medal was forgotten, James was dead, and so was Jinx.

The tone that came through the gloom scared her out of her wits; she'd been so certain she was fully and completely alone.

"Mary, it's me…"

She almost shouted out, but managed to reel herself in with a brutal leap of her heart that came out her mouth as a gasp. It made her sound like she was going off the deep end, and the voice returned.

"Mary, I'm right here…"

There was a rustling, but as the shapes and shadows came into focus, Mary started to lose a tiny portion of her fear. She could see her closet doors, and the navy tinge of the sky filtering in through her window. And that long, lanky form on the other side of the bed…

"Marshall?"

It came out even sadder than her prayer for Jinx, mixed and muddled with thick and heavy tears that hadn't even fallen. They were caught in her throat, choking her, making her quiver and whittle down into pieces.

"Just a sec…"

There he was again, attempting to turn around and snap on the light. But, Mary had tried wiggling closer to him to promote this sense of reality, only to bump unexpectedly with something blocking her way. Her fears climbed once more, her parent's faces still swirling in her subconscious, and she let out another throaty gasp against her will. She backed away; all the while Marshall tried to explain.

"It's Alice…" he whispered urgently; clearly he didn't want his voice to rise, but it wasn't easy. He was extending a hand with words and gestures meant to calm. "Mary, its Alice…"

His fingers brushed her pajama top at that moment, and her heart rate began to inch downward once more, though she was still breathing very deeply. She could see her daughter curled on her side, unmistakably having been snuggled with Marshall, still fast asleep.

"It's nothing…" she finally spoke, suddenly not wanting Marshall to see her such a wreck, heaving air between each letter. "It's nothing; I'm fine…"

"Shh…" he murmured. "It's all right; hang on…"

The lamp finally flew into life, bathing the three individuals in a beam of rumpled covers and sweaty sheets. Only Alice lay stationary, inhaling and exhaling serenely while her parents sat up halfway between her.

Marshall was alarmed by how bad Mary actually looked; he'd assumed the thoughts in her head would be worse than her demeanor. But no; she was as pale as a ghost and wide-eyed, deer-in-the-headlights-style. She resembled a skeleton; lids sunken and hair hanging limp. She must've had one hell of a dream. It had been a long time since they'd had to deal with this; almost four years, in fact.

But, Marshall was prepared, "Talk to me…" he whispered, so as not to wake Alice. "Come on; we'll go out to the kitchen…"

Mary adamantly refused, "I just need some water," her speech was so quick the words ran together and became unintelligible. "I just need some water; that's it…"

"I'll get it for you…" Marshall offered, already elbowing up to leave, but she beat him to it.

"No," she insisted. "No; stay here."

He really thought she might fall with how rapidly she was getting up. But, they were not going to play this game – not now, not ever. Marshall was fast too, and he swung his legs out to follow her, not about to let her get away. Unfortunately, she was so frantic in her quest not to seem weak that she was already in the hall before he caught up.

"Mary…!" he didn't want to yell, especially with a house full of people. He almost toppled forward sliding on the hardwood, grabbing her arm. "Mary, wait…" he gripped hard, forcing her to stop. "Look at me…"

She shook her head; "Marshall, I'm fine," the shaky sense in her voice could not have been more contradictory. "I'm fine; I just need…" she swallowed, eyes downcast away from him. They were right outside Norah's bedroom door. "I just need…"

He waited to see where this was going; what she wanted to say. But, it appeared she couldn't get any further. She quit resisting his iron fist, but he hung on anyway while she gulped and pulled herself back to earth. It was more shadowy in the hall; Brandi had left one of the lights in the kitchen on, bathing them both in a half-glow.

"I just need…"

Eventually, she raised her chin and stared into Marshall's big, worrisome blue eyes; Alice's eyes. She knew she was going to cry. She might already be tearing up; she wasn't sure. It was those eyes that were going to kill her.

"You need what?" he whispered sweetly, trying to give her a nudge after three tries.

Mary shook her head and gave up, "I don't know…" she felt him kiss her temple and little beads of dew began to dribble down her cheeks. "I don't know."

She turned around, grateful she wasn't becoming a total mess, although God knew what she'd displayed in the bedroom. She allowed Marshall to hug her, to wrap her up momentarily. She was still shaky and he rubbed her arms to get her to quiet. Behind her, she could hear his voice.

"Just let me know when you figure it out."

It scared Mary not to know how to fix this. She loved Marshall so much, and she loved being this near him. She couldn't help but admire how dependable and trustworthy he was, not to mention how steady. And yet, in spite of the overwhelming gratitude, it did not make the ache in her bones go away. It had been different when James had died; she'd been appreciative for every second she'd gotten to spend with Marshall because he hadn't been hers yet. She reveled in every moment; soaked in every inch she obtained. It was the rarity that made it special; it alleviated the pain.

But, this was not the same. No matter how close he held her, the sorrow engulfed her like a cloud of smoke; like a thick blanket. Was it his fault, or her own?

She'd shrunk in against him now, arms and hands curled in his chest so she wasn't even reciprocating their embrace. Nonetheless, he just hung on; no rocking, no forcing.

"I need to stop feeling like this…" Mary revealed in a choked voice, clamping hard on her tears to get them to dry. "When am I gonna stop feeling like this?"

Her timbre climbed in a little bit of agitation; she was so desperate for the answer. But, Marshall kept her enclosed and offered little on this front.

"Give it time…" he told her gently. "Give it time."

Mary was about to rebuttal; to say she did not want to do that, and she didn't intend to. That was why she pushed forward; why she ran away from those who wished to comfort. It put a damper on those feelings of fear and loss that took over if she waited too long. Even now, she was allowing Marshall to comfort her; she wasn't exactly letting _herself_ be comforted.

But, none of this was going to escape, because a sleepy and worried little sound floated the direction from whence they had come.

"Daddy?"

They were close enough that Alice didn't have to yell, but she was undoubtedly befuddled about where everyone had gone. Marshall sighed and finally removed himself; Mary could see in his eyes that he was upset about having missed the opportunity to goad her about her dream. She still could not imagine how she'd appeared after that one, but had no desire to share.

"Daddy, where are you?"

If he didn't go soon, Alice was going to wander out on her own. He laid a hand on Mary's shoulder and squeezed lightly.

"If you want to talk in the morning…" he offered. "I'm really happy to listen, all right?"

He raised his brows, indicating that he found this the best course of action, but she could make no promises. She wanted to forget the nightmare; wanted to forget the kind of guilt and humiliation it had caused, whether it had been real or not.

"…I've just; I've gotta get…" he gestured at the closed door with the light peeking under the slats. "Alice was crying when I let her in bed with us; you were asleep, I didn't want to wake you…"

She wished he had, Mary thought. But, he was dear and kind to work so hard at tending to all their needs. She just nodded to show she understood, and took her turn at indicating the beyond.

"I'm just gonna grab a glass of water," she whispered, her voice still a little trembling.

Marshall bobbed his head, "I'll see you in a minute."

It would probably be longer than that, but Mary indicated her agreement and sent him on his way, not envying his job of putting on a cheerful face for a drowsy Alice. The woman simply sighed and made her way on legs that felt like jelly into the kitchen. Fortunately, Brandi was still dozing on the couch, wrapped up in an old quilt with her head sunk inside a fluffy pillow. The inability to get sleep the night before had obviously taken its toll; she was in no danger of coming around.

Mary settled herself at the table, watching her sister snooze with a gaze that was only half-focused. She pictured it as very similar to the stupor she'd gone into that morning, plaguing herself with real memories, rather than artificial ones. She wasn't sure which were the most crushing.

Her water tasted like nothing and her mind was anything but clear, even though she'd told Marshall the liquid was the only thing she required. Why would her brain go such an odd direction in such a subliminal way? What was a dream such as that supposed to be telling her? She still had some sort of veneration for her father that she'd never had for Jinx?

Had Jinx suspected that? Maybe even thought it without question? What sort of person did that make Mary? She only had eyes for a man who'd been nothing but trouble and nothing but grief.

She was still pondering her disloyalty when she heard the footsteps. At first, she thought it was Marshall, and so she sat up a little straighter and worked to appear perfectly offhand. But then she realized the pattern didn't match his deliberate stride, and the footfalls weren't heavy enough.

She was surprised, therefore, to see Robyn shuffle into her midst, jade eyes depressed and lethargic to boot.

She did her best to look impassive though, "Hey babe…" she greeted in a hushed voice. "What are you doing up?"

Robyn dragged herself all the way over, stopping to look Mary in the face behind the chair across from her. She rested her hands on its back and shrugged, tangled hair falling in knots down her shirt.

"I couldn't sleep," she told her aunt bleakly. "I dreamt about Jinx and it made me too…" a sad, young-sounding little exhale eked in midsentence. "It made me too unhappy to go back to sleep."

What Mary knew she meant was that her mind had become too full with her woes to yield, something the woman could definitely relate to. She also saw that if she let this get any further, more hysterics might be on their way. She was going to have to be swift and delicate; a combination that worked with Robyn, but a combination Mary infrequently adopted.

"You want some milk, babe?" she asked tenderly, tacking on the nickname on purpose, so as to seem more sympathetic. "Would that make you feel a little better?"

Robyn nodded pitifully, satisfied to be catered to, and Mary stood to fulfill the order. This felt easy. She was good at this. She was experienced. She didn't have to think twice about taking care of somebody, even when she needed someone to take care of her.

In no time, Mary had poured a glass of milk, watching it settle and curdle for a moment in the clear cup she'd dug out. She quickly returned it to Robyn, who had pulled out a chair, but had yet to sit in its confines. Mary saw where this was going and seized the chance; she might not be much for a lot of touchy-feely, but if it got her mind off her issues, she was willing to take it.

"Come here, my little diva…" she even tried to joke. "Take a load off."

She slipped into the chair first, and then grasped Robyn around her middle to pull her onto her lap. It was a tight fit with her niece getting taller, but they still managed to snuggle in. It had been a long time since she'd nestled with Robyn, but it wasn't so bad. She wasn't quite as squirmy as she used to be, which helped.

She took her milk in both hands and sipped from the edge, Mary resting her chin on that magnificent hair.

"You're not the only one having crummy dreams tonight," she voiced out of nowhere; unsure what made her say it.

Robyn tried to turn to look up at her, "You too?"

"A doozy," Mary murmured, thinking she'd spilled because Robyn probably wouldn't pry. She would be too interested in telling about her own escapade. "But, I try to forget once it's over."

"I couldn't forget too good…" Robyn shook her head, getting back to her milk. "My dream wasn't sad, but it made _me_ really sad because it had Jinx in it, and I miss her and she should be here…" she hadn't even paused to take a breath, trying to get through concisely. "I don't know who is going to teach the ballet now, or do my hair…"

"Your mom can do it…" Mary interjected, but Robyn didn't appear to have heard.

"…Or take me to see all the grown-up movies, or let me sleep-over…"

She had lost a lot in one day, Mary thought. She was only nine, and sleep couldn't come when you were considering all that.

"I don't want to forget Jinx," she switched gears a little abruptly. "I'm afraid I'll forget her…"

Even though Mary couldn't see her face, she could sense the trepidation there. It was a real concern for Robyn; something truly troubling. And, tragic as it was, the good times might fade with time. When you were only in the third grade, it was a lot to hang onto as the years passed. Mary knew well enough. She'd only been in first grade when James had left, and those recollections prior were few and far between.

James. Again.

Mary buried her frustration and told Robyn a better tale than the one in her head, "You won't forget, Rob," she rubbed the knee she could reach under the table. "And, it might sound stupid since Jinx isn't with us anymore, but she wouldn't forget you either. She loved you so much, babe."

She had. Jinx had loved her family dearly and deeply, with a passion and even with recklessness. She'd done her part after so many years of failing at it. Mary couldn't help but wonder if she'd ever given her a pat on the back for bringing herself home.

And as she contemplated this, Mary expected Robyn to say she'd loved her grandmother as well in reciprocation. But no, this was Robyn. Fully convinced she'd been adored, and if there was one thing she had no qualms about, it was that Jinx had realized she was beloved every step of the way.

"Yeah," she whispered definitively. "I know she did."

XXX

**A/N: Oh, our Mary! The guilt begins! And about the necklace – I was never sure what happened to it on the show. I know they found it, but I'm saying it still became evidence for purposes of this story, so she doesn't have it anymore. **


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: I feel so lucky to have you few loyal reviewers! You are awesome!**

XXX

Wednesday morning brought Albuquerque a light dusting of snow, still trailing idly from the bottomless grey clouds at 7:30 when the kids left for school. Robyn and Alice bemoaned their exit, wondering why class was even going on with snow falling from the sky. But, it was so fine and refusing to stick in the brown patches of brittle grass; there was no way school would be called off.

Brandi went home to Peter as soon as the troops were gone, and even though Mary had risen from her bed in order to bid the kids farewell, she wished she'd felt more up to the part. The flu she'd contracted had seemed to be on its way out yesterday, but today left her sluggish and achy, like it might be sweeping through her system once more. She knew the lack of sleep hadn't helped, and when Marshall emerged fully dressed for the day, he definitely noticed.

"Are you feeling okay?" he prodded her where she sat with her head in her hands at the island. She had dressed as well, in a fuzzy blue turtleneck and her jeans. She'd thought attempting to rejoin the world of living would improve her status, but nothing thus far. "You don't look so hot…"

Mary wanted to snap at him for insulting her state-of-being while her defenses were so low, but knew she needed to save her energy. She was sick of this house, and she was sick of the gloom, and she was sick of having everything thrown in her face when she wasn't ready. Come hell or high water, she was calling the shots today.

"I feel fine…" she lied, trying not to flinch when Marshall put his hand on her forehead. "It's early; I'll perk up."

"Well, I've gotta go to the office for a couple hours…" he informed her, turning his palm back to front. "I shouldn't be long, but I just want to get everything squared away so it's handled when I take off for the visitation and whatnot…"

Mary tensed at the mention of the visitation, which had been scheduled for Friday. She did not know why they needed to have two events to mourn Jinx's passing, but Brandi had insisted, saying people needed more than one opportunity to pay their respects. Unfortunately, Marshall had seemed to agree.

"Why don't I call Joanna to come keep you company?" her husband offered. "Just until I get back; Mark's working this morning."

This suggestion was irksome, and it only fueled Mary's desire to get out of the house. She'd been slogging around for a week now, and the last two days felt like they'd lasted a year. She wasn't interested in staying home and moping, especially not after her disaster of a dream the night before.

"You don't need to call anybody," Mary informed him smoothly, sliding her stool out from underneath her and standing up. "I'll just go with you."

She'd attempted to be cool; to not play her hand or demand right off the top, but it was plain it made no difference. The way Marshall's brows crept together and hunched made him look dark and brooding – in other words, completely against such a notion.

"I do not think that is a favorable proposition," he dictated, still staring her down. "Just stay here; I told you I will not be long."

"There's no reason for me to stay here," Mary interrupted, her legs feeling oddly stiff underneath the boots she'd put on. "I can get some of this funeral and flower shit done at the office, and then I can catch up on work…"

Marshall clearly was not in the mood to argue and jumped the gun, "You are not coming with me, Mare."

Annoyed, "Why the hell not?"

"Well, for one thing, you're still sick. And it's like the arctic out there…" he inclined his head at the kitchen window where the flakes were still dancing toward the ground. "You'll catch pneumonia."

Mary had thought she might have to fight for this, but she was unexpectedly stung with Marshall treating her like such a juvenile. She could take his concern over her mind-set when it came to Jinx, but this nonsense about her health was too much.

"Is this you being my mother?" her voice bit with sarcasm and also pain. "Since I don't have one anymore?"

She did not know what made her say it, but it was completely unplanned and a little daunting to hear out loud. She had thought Marshall might soften with this development, but on the contrary. It made him angrier.

"That isn't funny," he said in a low voice. "And you know better. You have no business going to work when Jinx just passed away."

"My life doesn't just stop!" Mary exploded, suddenly more anxious than ever to leave and not be boxed into the quarters she'd been stuck in since she'd heard the news. Waving a wild hand, "How long constitutes 'just?' she wanted to know. "I have things to do! I've been at a standstill for a week now, and I've had enough. If you don't want me to ride with you, I'll take my car."

She would've done too, if not for the fact that Marshall seemed to cluing in a little bit. The light was dawning; he realized she felt confined and haunted staying here in the grey – either by herself or with another. It was more than obvious he still did not approve of letting her shut her emotions up in a box and trot off to work with a fever. But, he also didn't want her to get worse and he could bombard her later if he gave in now.

Staring at his wife, her eyes steely and arms crossed over her middle, he knew a lot of men would find her impossible to tend to day in and out. But to him, it was just another challenge; another hurdle they jumped through together.

"Get your coat and your gloves," he ordered, shaking his head even as he said it, wondering how much he was going to regret this. "Two hours – maximum."

We'll see about that, Mary thought, but she was smart enough not to say it and almost stampeded toward the door with the leeway.

Regardless of her mad yearning to feel constructive, Mary could tell the entire journey to the office that she definitely was not a hundred percent. She'd been indoors for seven days, and the toll the virus had taken on her body was obnoxiously apparent. It was one thing to build endurance around the house; it was another to actually depend on it.

The cold was abnormally bitter even though Marshall shellacked her with coats. The wind smarted harshly against her hot cheeks and made her bones throb. She was grateful to reach the security of the Sunshine Building, even though she already felt beaten-down from her jaunt.

After greetings and condolences from Delia and Charlie, Mary thumped down at her desk to get to work. Marshall warily saw himself into the office, an eye on her the whole time. Fortunately, she got caught in a phone call with D.C. and was able to block him out. It felt glorious to do something so ordinary, even though she was starting to feel dizzy from all the vigor she'd exerted. She buried it fast.

"He'll need a bigger stipend than that…" Mary barked at her D.C. representative, referring to one of Delia's newest witnesses. "He's got two kids; he's a single father…"

She waited while Delia herself wandered into her midst, looking skeptical but also unwilling to voice her concerns.

"I know what your policy is, numb nuts. I practically wrote it…" she informed him, firing up with all the protocol she had to get past. "Where's your supervisor? He'll tell you."

Delia motioned indistinctly and Mary put a hand over the mouthpiece to see what she wanted.

"I can handle that if you want to get back to your calls…" she presented quietly. "I mean, with the arrangements and everything…"

"I've got it," Mary shook her head, finding this interaction overly important for the sake of her sanity. "It's no problem."

Delia attempted to continue on, "I think Marshall's good with you just getting up-to-date on your paperwork…"

It was her way of talking Mary off the ledge, of admitting she was fully capable of resuming her duties – just not the battles. But, Mary ignored her, leaving her standing there to cop a plea with somebody else. In any case, the yahoo on the other end of the phone still wasn't budging.

"You don't want to get me your supervisor?" she jabbed when she heard D.C.'s refusal. "Then how about Deputy McQueen? He's always happy to hear from me."

Mary hadn't wanted to play the 'Stan' card too soon, but it was high time this underling knew who was boss. It appeared this wasn't going to fly, however.

"He's out of town," the man responded.

"Out of town where?!"

But, as soon as the thought entered her mind, she remembered. Stan – Stan _and_ Lia – were coming. They were coming in today. The entire visit had been blown completely out of her head. Why hadn't somebody reminded her? They didn't even know what was going on, and they were going to show up in the midst of this chaos. She thought she might be having a stroke with something else unexpected getting plopped on her plate, but resolved to let Delia do as she was asking.

"Talk to Jeeves…" she stood up so fast her chair rolled from underneath her, and she practically threw the phone to the other woman. "I have something to discuss with Marshall."

Delia was giving her a, 'what now?' look as she strode the length of the office, but twisted the phone cord around and began dealing with D.C. and its funds. Mary's heart was beginning to thump rather uncomfortably; the overwhelming sense of entrapment was increasing tenfold. Stan and Lia had-had no plans to stay with her and Marshall, of course. But, it was one more thing; one more thing to take care of, one more person to answer to. She was starting to feel sweaty and warm, and the sensation didn't go away even after she got to the office.

He looked up at her with weary eyes from behind his desk, "Yeah?"

Mary's cheeks felt like they were on fire. She tried to motivate herself – practically berate herself – to calm down so Marshall wouldn't become her nursemaid once more. She breathed deeply a few times, but it was to no avail. She should not have worn a turtleneck. It felt like it was choking her.

"I forgot about Stan…" she declared recklessly, and so speedily that Marshall didn't catch on at first.

"Huh?" he put his pen down.

"Stan!" her voice went up an octave unintentionally. "Stan; I forgot he was coming! He and Lia are flying in today…!"

"Oh…" Marshall shrugged casually. "No, I remembered," he promised. "I spoke to Stan yesterday." He narrowed his eyes, assessing her skittish persona, "Is that a problem? Did you not want him to come?"

"No!" she was frustrated that he didn't understand. "No, I'm just – I just forgot and I was worried that…"

She did not even know anymore. She really wanted to chill out, but found her body was not going to let her. She was so mystified she couldn't ascertain which end was up. She missed her mother; she didn't know how to handle the kids. She didn't know who would be coming to the visitation or the funeral. She didn't know what her insane dream meant. She didn't know anything and it was frightening her out of her mind.

Marshall stood up while her eyes flashed and stepped around his desk. He placed a tender hand on the fleece of her sweater and tried to meet her frantic gaze.

"It's all right…" he whispered in reference to Stan, hoping he could take care of that one quickly. "You are entitled to lose track. You have an infinite number of items going on at the moment."

Mary was about to tell him that this didn't make her feel better; it made her feel scatterbrained and careless. But, she didn't miss his lids flicker upward through his window. Before she could inquire, Marshall had already explained.

"Speak of the devil…" he murmured with some degree of apprehension in his voice. "He must've gotten in early."

Mary whirled around and saw that the object of her current obsession was strolling through the office. Stan, in his brown trench coat and shiny black shoes, stopped to say a quick hello to Delia, before he sent a wave to the other two. Marshall waved back, feeding him a half-smile, but Mary's mushy mind didn't catch her extremities in time. How could Stan have possibly gotten in early with the snow? How would he know they were at work? Didn't anything go according to plan?

She had no time to dwell. Stan had abandoned Delia and made for his old residence, pausing to rap three times on the already open wooden door.

"Knock-knock…" he called in his usual buoyant way, although with a little less optimism. "There room for three in here?"

Marshall managed a real smile and went to greet him, sticking out his hand and embracing in a brief, one-armed hug to pat backs and murmur hellos in ears.

"Good to see you, deputy…" Marshall said, having stuck 'chief' in a drawer now that they were so many years into it. "I didn't expect you until early afternoon."

"We got out before the inclement weather," Stan enlightened them, beginning to unbutton the coat as he made himself at home. "Lia is down at the hotel doing some unpacking. She wants to have lunch with some of her old studio friends."

Mary's stomach gave a sadistic pitch downward at the mention of the word 'studio.' She wondered, hazily, if she was going to start puking again. Lia and Jinx hadn't even taught in the same place – hadn't even taught the same types of dances, and yet Mary immediately registered the similarities. The harm was strong and she packed it in by closing her eyes and trying to clear her head.

"Well, we're just…getting some loose ends tied up…" Marshall informed their old boss in a poor segue, his concerned look darting onto Mary. "Before all the hectic matters begin on Friday."

It was apparent even to Mary, who had gone decidedly blank, that Marshall had filled Stan in. She knew it to be so when the latter nodded solemnly and stepped over to the other of his former inspectors. Despite Mary's inability to see straight right now, she could take in the soft, affectionate quality of Stan's deep brown eyes. They were kindly and swimming with empathy.

"I can imagine," he murmured, stopping dead in front of Mary's face. And leaving Marshall in the rearview, "How you doing, inspector?"

He didn't have to specify, and Mary certainly wasn't going to make him. She accepted his trying to hug her without pulling away, but she was too dim to reciprocate. Her throat was feeling scratchy and the muscles in her gut were churning. She barely felt the peck Stan left on her cheek.

"I'm…I'm fine…" she said, and it came out very timid, but they were lucky she'd managed.

She could see Marshall out the corner of her eye, lamenting his decision to let her in here. He was clearly fighting off the urge to sweep her up and take her home.

However, Stan was looking her up and down as well, and he spotted the anomalies, "You look flushed, kiddo; are you still not feeling good?"

Mary was about to say for what felt like the fiftieth time that she was perfectly fine, but Marshall who had more of his wits about him was swifter.

"Still getting over the bug," he supplied with something of an edge. He didn't want Mary to seem weak, but he thought she was starting to look really funny. Her eyes were glassy and unfocused and Stan was right; her face was blazing. He found himself contemplating just how high her fever had notched up with their little adventure. "We thought it had run its course but she hasn't quite beaten it yet."

"Ah, well…" Stan waved a genial hand, sensing where this might be headed. "You're a trooper to come into work," he winked in a gentlemanly way to appease the woman.

Marshall wondered if he could use Stan's compliment to his advantage. He could ask some WITSEC-related questions to make his wife feel like a part of the action; feel like her coming in today had been essential. If he was lucky, she'd bite and pack it in for the morning. Stan could accompany her until he was through.

"What's going on in D.C.?" he directed his investigation to Mary so Stan wouldn't get confused. "How's that stipend for Thomas and his offspring looking?"

Mary sighed, "Not so good. I left Delia to have a few words…" she waggled her fingers at the window.

"And Chelsea Cameron?" he referred to yet another new gal on Delia's roster. "You were going to call and see how that retail job is working out, right?"

"I haven't had a chance yet," Mary admitted, unable to hide her agitation much longer. She tried fanning her shirt open at the neck to get some air. "I was on hold with those pansy people for thirty minutes; they screwed up my schedule…"

Marshall frowned, "Pansy people? I am not following on that one; I do apologize."

"The florists – the ones we're using for the church!" she exclaimed irritably. "It took me an age to get enough ordered…"

He really couldn't stay silent anymore, not with Stan becoming totally bewildered in regards to Mary's attitude. She wasn't really talking to either of them; their eyes didn't meet and she still looked vacant, like she wasn't even in the room. Marshall was aggravated that she insisted upon reverting like this, as if he'd love her any less if she broke down.

"All they had were lilacs or roses or something…" she prattled on breathlessly. "Jinx hated purple flowers, so I got the roses, only…"

"Mare, sit down…" Marshall could see that she'd run out of room, that she was on the fast track to losing all feeling in her legs.

He snatched the chair from behind his desk and rolled it in front, but she ignored him and tried to make her plea understood, "Only, _I_ didn't want the roses because James…"

Her ears were closing in; all the sounds around her were becoming fuzzy and incoherent. The sides of her vision pushed inward on her lids, closing the gap. It was bridging black with black before the spots of gold burst in eerie patches through the darkness.

"Take a breath, Mary. I'll get you some water…"

Her enormous green eyes, rounder than usual, finally faced the man who was trying to keep her in one piece. Before she could tell him she was sorry, before she could register that it was actually him amidst the gloom, her knees buckled. She heard Marshall and Stan cry out at the same moment before a pair of strong hands caught her, and the shadows turned to endless night.

XXX

**A/N: What sort of Mary would she be if she weren't going to make this some kind of fight for Marshall? It's why he loves his girl. ;)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Once again, I just have to say thank-you to those of you that are still reading. It's a slower time of year (or maybe the story isn't so entertaining?) but I appreciate any of you taking the time to leave me such kind words.**

XXX

Marshall was more discouraged than he was worried as he caught his wife seconds before she hit the ground in a fainting spell. This was a far cry from Stan, who pulled a 'Mary' himself and shouted out.

"Jesus!" he burst, sliding backward on the linoleum so he wouldn't be in the line of fire. "What's wrong with her; is she okay?"

"Damn it…" Marshall grunted, scooping Mary as gently as possible under her arms and lugging her to the chair. "She's fine…" he answered Stan begrudgingly, seating the limp Mary upright. "She passed out because she's way over her limit – over-exerted herself, in other words," he clarified. "Her immune system is run-down; it can't support the kind of stress she just put on it."

Stan nodded knowingly, and despite his status as a US Marshal and medical training, he still looked concerned. To his surprise, Marshall appeared highly annoyed as he set about adjusting Mary in the chair.

"Can I do something?" Stan asked, trying to be as calm as the other man was. "Should I call somebody?"

"No…" Marshall sighed. "See if there's a washcloth out in the kitchenette; soak it and bring it here, would you?"

"Sure…" Stan agreed, and without further ado made his way out the office door to do as instructed.

Marshall did his best to get Mary comfortable, even in his agitation. He had known this was a terrible idea; known she was not acting in her right frame of mind, and he'd let her come anyway. Now she'd probably be ill for another week, and miserable to boot. Though it wasn't easy, Marshall tried to push that guilt away in favor of getting his wife sprung to life.

Ideally, he knew she should be lying down, but the floor was hard and she was already under-the-weather. He settled for reclining her head as far back as it would go in the chair, and gathered two binders from his desk. He shoved them under her feet and took her pulse for his own peace of mind, and was relieved to feel the beat against his fingers.

"Mary…" he murmured, running a tender finger down her moisture-ridden cheek. "What am I gonna do with you?"

Marshall contemplated what her answer to that might be if she were awake when Stan returned with sopping fabric, close to dripping all over the floor.

"Here…" he offered the cloth to Marshall. "That was as cold as I could get it," he explained.

"Thanks," Marshall nodded and immediately started to sponge Mary's flesh as slowly and concisely as he could. He didn't want to startle or shock her, because the washcloth was definitely icy. Stan must've put the water on full blast. "Come on, Mare…" he coaxed as he worked.

Stan clearly thought it was prudent to get a few things straight before Mary rejoined them, "Has she been like this the whole time?" he asked curiously. "Since Jinx died? Acting pissed instead of upset?"

"Well, according to Mark, she was very upset…" Marshall informed him, transferring the damper to Mary's forehead. "And once I finally got to her that first day, she was still pretty shaken-up, but she was being so sweet…" he revealed, grateful his wife couldn't hear him call her as such. "But, I guess once the shock wore off…"

He shrugged and Stan picked up the phrase, "Same old Mary."

"Well, not entirely," Marshall decided to give her a little credit. "She's been wonderful with the kids," he didn't mention Alice's pop-tart-wet-pants fiasco. "But, get her alone and she just doesn't want to push it."

"Hard to blame her," Stan slipped his hands into his pockets and began to rock back and forth. "It's gotta be tough for her, especially with her dad gone…"

Marshall was about to agree, to say he had suspected James might have something to do with Mary's manner, when she started to stir. He halted the stroking he'd began with the washcloth and let her bring herself around, knowing she would be irate when she woke, not to mention feeling extremely under-par.

"Mmm…?" she vocalized, shifting her head to one side before blinking once or twice to try and acquaint herself with the room she'd just left. "…What…?"

She was still out-of-it, but when she batted her eyelids she caught a glimpse of Stan in the doorway, Delia looking on from her desk. Their shapes were blurry and indistinct, trilling and molding oddly at their edges like smoke. The snow outside the window made them appear greyer in the dank light of the office.

There was a hand on her face; a temperate, soothing hand. Her skin was prickling and damp, and when she shifted her gaze the other direction, she saw Marshall kneeling before her.

Jesus. What had she done now?

"Hey…" he whispered, trying to put his annoyance aside to tend to his wife in her daze. "You okay?" the hand slipped away and he craned his neck to lay lips against her flesh, a reward for her waking up.

Mary was still a little lost, but was pretty sure she knew what had happened, "Did I faint?" her voice came out in pieces, each letter trailing inexpertly after the one before it.

"Yeah…" Marshall sighed, and she could tell she'd put him through the wringer in just a single morning. "I think you overdid it today."

Mary looked at him from where she was slumped in his chair, at the way he was working so hard to give her what she wanted; to not appear angry or slighted. He knew how difficult life was right now, and that she was making it even harder by resisting the circumstances. But, he just let her. He knew how she was. Once upon a time, she'd been worried her unattractive side would astonish him. It was why she'd been so afraid to marry him.

How could she have ever turned that down? The shame swept her fragile body and her green eyes turned doleful with his statement.

"I'm sorry."

Marshall tried not to let his surprise show on his face, but it was an effort. It wasn't everyday Mary realized the error of her ways and owned up to it. At the same time, he didn't see this as something she needed to apologize for. She was unhappy and unsure how to handle it; she just relapsed because the motions to resist change were still programmed within.

He gave her a small smile, "Passing out is not your fault," he swore. "But, Mare you are burning up. Face it, love; you're sick," he added the affectionate moniker without thinking. "I want you to go home, all right?"

He asked permission to make her feel better, but really had no intention of taking no for answer this time. Luckily, he had to Stan to back him up.

"I'll drive her," he offered genially. "I don't have to meet Lia again for a few hours."

Marshall didn't wait for a response, even a groggy one, before he stood and extended his hand to help Mary up. Fortunately, she was either too tired or too slow at the moment to protest. She sat up as well as she was able and allowed Marshall to hoist her to her feet. It was an almost nauseating act; her legs were unsteady and she was clammy and shivery all over. She couldn't work now even if she'd wanted to, a thought that thoroughly depressed her.

"I'll bring your car around, okay?" Stan continued, peering low to catch her eyes.

"Yeah…" Mary croaked. "My keys are in my top drawer."

"Sure-sure…" Stan nodded. "I'll grab your bag too. Take your time getting downstairs; there's no rush."

Mary could only nod at his generosity before Marshall thanked him and their former boss went on his merry way. This left the married pair alone in the office, Mary feeling foolish and humiliated all at once. She had to have scared Marshall with her spell. Why did she do this? She wanted to talk to him, to tell him she was baffled about Jinx and her dad – uncertain of how her mother had felt, and afraid she'd never be able to ask her about it.

But, the words wouldn't come right now; she was too focused on feeling like she could function again to bother right this second.

Instead, she proposed another confession, "I'm sorry I turn things into such a mess for you."

She had not expected him to grin, even merely for her benefit. But, that was exactly what he did, bestowing her with a second, tingling kiss.

"You know what they say…" he declared in a lighter voice. "Sometimes messy is what you need."

With this familiar, but nonetheless dismal thought, Mary gave in and let Marshall lead her to the elevator. Delia wished her well from where she was still on the phone, and Mary gave her a short, terse nod in response. Downstairs, Stan behind the wheel of the inspector's minivan, Marshall kissed her goodbye and promised he'd be home around lunchtime.

The car ride through the snow was silent and shaky; the thump the tires made on the wet ground made Mary's stomach churn. Her head hurt and she was mortified about having collapsed in front of Stan. What must he think of her? She opted not to ask and instead rested her head on the cool pane of the window, hoping it would ease the jittery feeling in her limbs.

The house was just as Mary had left it meager hours before, but no more inviting than she'd found it at dawn. Even with the lights on, it seemed dreary and dank – and lonesome. She hated when the kids weren't home because it was so quiet. She could use their boundless energy right now, which they were sure to have in spite of the news they'd received the day before.

"You want anything to eat or drink?" Stan questioned once Mary had settled herself on the couch with a light blanket. "Maybe some water? Dry toast?" he was sticking his head in cabinets without really listening to her response.

"Not really…" she whispered, not wanting Stan to go to any trouble; she wasn't up for sustenance anyway. "I'm not very hungry."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't be…" Stan switched gears as he closed the cupboards and began to saunter back to the living room. "Maybe later this afternoon, then."

Mary was noncommittal, "Maybe."

She felt absolutely dreadful, and yet was still frustrated she was back at home. It was beginning to feel like a prison – the nasty weather and the empty confines. It may have only been three days since she'd heard about Jinx, but staying in park only enabled her to recount the experience over and over in her brain when she was stuck in the same place she'd been at the bomb dropping. It was like she couldn't get away from it.

Stan, seeing her vacant and despondent expression, sat comfortably at her feet on the sofa. It was true he was better at tending to an ill woman when the ill woman wasn't pregnant. Mary had to give him some acclaim for that.

"Boy, I'll tell you…" he began, looking fondly around the room. "I'm still not used to this place with all the girls' stuff in it," he made neutral conversation. "I remember it when it was just yours; so arranged and nice and neat. Very adult," he flashed her a teasing grin.

Mary didn't reciprocate, and alternated to looking around the room, trying to see what Stan saw. The toy box by the window that had been there since Norah's birth was now overflowing with Alice's dolls and stuffed animals. It had been red at its origin, but Marshall had painted pink hearts on the wood after Alice turned two. At one time, the development had displeased Mary, but she'd gotten over it.

On the coffee table in front of them were countless drawings, crayoned by both Norah and Alice; Mary even thought she saw a few with Max's name scrawled in the corner. Norah, even at ten, still enjoyed a little artwork, and also saw it as an opportunity to school Alice on shading in the lines. By the front door there were coats that had fallen from hooks, the entryway littered with forgotten gloves and hats, too small anyone Mary's or Marshall's size.

Underneath the lip of the outer counter was Norah's bag with her baseball equipment; shoved out of sight in favor of when the weather grew warmer. There was also a stray pair of ballet slippers that Robyn must've left at one time or another.

And the rolling in Mary's belly returned.

"Quite a funhouse I live in these days," she said to Stan in an attempt to cover the sensation. "Come one, come all."

"It's nice, though," Stan clarified. "Makes it seem like home."

It had used to, Mary thought, until all these haunting memories had started invading her sanctuary. She couldn't take her eyes off the misplaced pair of pale pink dancing shoes. How had she never noticed them before? They looked old, like Robyn had long since forgotten them. They might fit Alice by now.

"Well, not all of its ours…" was her way of voicing this. "Robyn and Max leave a ton of stuff. Like those…" she indicated the slippers, hoping that if she called attention, the bad feeling might wash away. "I think those are Robyn's. Norah never took ballet."

Stan seemed to have an intuition about where the story was headed. After all, he knew Jinx had been a dancer. She and Lia had gotten along quite well the few times they'd been able to spend with one another. But, that wasn't entirely what was on Mary's mind right now.

"I never asked her if she wanted to…" Mary continued inattentively, still zeroing in below the counter. "I just assumed, since she wasn't into that stuff…" a sigh, before forcing herself to look back at Stan. "I wonder if she would've liked going to class with Jinx."

For his part, Stan tried not to look too melancholy about the road they were down, "I don't know," he said truthfully. "I bet she was a hell of a teacher, though. Hell of a singer too, as I understood it."

Mary wasn't sure what he meant, "Hmm?"

"Didn't she have a part in a play once?" he wanted to know. "Sweet Charity? I know she got a callback for it."

Mary was thoroughly perplexed. She had not thought about that in ages. Jinx had indeed been assigned the role of Charity in the community production, but had never gotten to perform because she'd gone into rehab. But, more importantly, how did Stan know about it?

"Where did you hear that?" Mary asked skeptically, merely bemused and not critical. "I don't think I even told you."

Stan hadn't known he would regret bringing this up, but a distinct feeling of awkwardness stole over him as he recalled where he had learned the information. He knew it would bug Mary if she had to harass him, and thought it was best to get on with it, no matter how ill-at-ease it made him.

"You remember when you were abducted?" his tone was hushed.

"Not an easy thing to forget."

"Well, when Marshall and I came to talk to Jinx and Brandi, we tapped your phones in case somebody called," he explained. "I let Jinx answer the one time it rang, and it was somebody from the theater saying they wanted her to audition a second time."

Mary tried to let the pieces slide into place as Stan laid it all out, but he was still speaking.

"I remember thinking that she had this air about her – like she shouldn't enjoy her accomplishment, not when you were missing," he went on. "I told her I'd come see her if she got the part," he smiled warmly. "But, I think she was too worried about you to care."

As he finished, Mary took herself back to that day a little more thoroughly. Her mother should've been worried, she reflected. She'd caused a scene in the middle of the theater, accusing Mary of being selfish and wanting to ruin everything. It had not been Jinx's finest moment, especially considering what happened minutes after the fact.

This wasn't the first time Mary had pondered why Jinx had said those things. She'd turned the words around on her in those days, but was there any merit to them? Had her mother really thought Mary was that unfeeling?

No, she told herself. No-no-no. It had been a hard day for all of them; tempers running wild, even more so later that night when the letters from James had come out. Nobody had been thinking straight.

Right? Right.

"Jinx wasn't very thrilled with me that day," she was going to find a way to tell Stan and get this weight off her chest without becoming a wreck. "I showed up at her audition – made her mad."

"Oh…" Stan breathed, shaking his head in a no-nonsense way. "She was probably thrown. It's scary when you try to get back on your feet; all the obstacles that might stand in your way look bigger than they really are."

Mary wondered if Marshall had ever recounted what had happened that morning to Stan. It seemed he knew a little more than he was letting on, but it enabled Mary to open up, at the very least.

"She said I enjoyed watching her fail."

It came out as soft as the summer breeze; so quiet Mary wasn't sure Stan heard right away. But the wind also made her choke up; made the clogged feeling return to her throat. She didn't like thinking about this. How had she let it invade?

Stan, meanwhile, was working furiously for a good response. He could see in Mary's deep green eyes that they had traipsed into a dangerous minefield. All the things he wanted to say didn't seem very appropriate, not when Jinx had just passed away. Delicately as possible, he leaned over and placed his hand against her knee. She swallowed hard and rolled her eyes skyward to try and get a grip on herself.

"Oh, kiddo…" he breathed, wanting desperately not to make her feel worse. "You know that isn't true," he insisted. "I…I don't know why she would say that, Mary, but it-it was just a mistake," he rattled on recklessly. "She just…must not have been thinking about how you might feel, is all…"

"I don't know…" Mary laughed ruefully, and the action made her sore in her gullet.

"Listen, inspector…" he turned on his boss voice, rubbing her knee now. "I really cared for Jinx – a lot. I did. She was very loving, and I was proud of her for stepping up and getting herself clean…"

This was a lot of preamble, Mary thought. He might be on the fast track to bestowing the woman with some unfortunate characteristics, and wanted to make it clear he respected her nonetheless.

"But, she was not as strong back then as you were – as you've always been," Stan resumed quietly. "Sometimes people say hurtful things when they're insecure."

Mary could tell by his eyes that he wanted to get off this subject, which only made sense since he was operating so quickly to make her quit fretting. She shouldn't have dragged him into her woes. He hadn't come all the way from Washington for this.

"I make everything so hard for everyone," she claimed, still fighting back the tears.

But Stan just smiled sadly and squeezed her knee, "You wouldn't be our Mary if you didn't."

XXX

**A/N: Stan's recollection of Jinx's part in the play is derived from one of the deleted scenes from, "Stan By Me" on the season one DVD. Like I said, I hope this is holding interest! I concede the plot isn't as meaty as some of my other tales, but I do what I can!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: A little bit of a lighter chapter here; not sunshine and roses by any means, but not quite so dramatic… **

XXX

By early afternoon, the falling snow had picked up in speed and, to Mary's surprise, started clinging to the dry ground. Usually, the only substantial of snowfalls occurred up in the Sandia Mountains, but Mary could tell through the window that there was enough to pack. Stan left at noon when Marshall returned, and he bored her all afternoon with scientific facts concerning the weather and the southwest. She knew he was doing it to keep her mind off her troubles, but she still insisted she take a catnap far enough through the spiel.

When the kids got home around four, Brandi trailing her own amidst the shuffle, the flakes were spinning fast. Mary knew even before the crew was through the door what the questions were going to sound like. It was Alice who got there first, tracking snow all through the carpet as she ran to Mary on the couch. Her boots made a steady thumping nose, and her nose was bright red underneath her knit hat, which covered her eyes.

"Mommy…?!" she exclaimed breathlessly from the cold, half-query and half-statement. "Did you know it's snowing?!"

"I'd noticed…" she mused while Marshall called instructions from the kitchen where he'd been making Mary a snack.

"Stay on the linoleum…" her husband directed with a pointed finger, jabbing it in a silly way at Norah, Robyn, and Max. "We will fast be the Alps in here with you three snowmen."

Robyn giggled as Mary got back to Alice, "Let me help you with your hat, Little Bit. You can't see…" she adjusted the green and blue striped, a former cap of Norah's.

"Can me and…" a pause to catch some air. "Robyn and…" she was speaking so fast only two words came at a time. "Max and Norah…"

Mary was intelligent enough to know where this was headed and cut to the chase, "Can you go outside and play?" she finished calmly. "Is that what you were about to ask?"

Alice nodded vigorously while Robyn backed up her request from the door, "There's enough to make a castle!" she declared. "Can we, please? Please-please-please?"

She and Alice ascended into a shrill chorus of, 'Please!' when Marshall finally stepped around the counter with a plate of cheese and crackers. He held up a hand to silence them, attempting not to step in the melting snow in his socks.

"Save the performance, ladies…" he dictated. "You too, princess…" he indicated Robyn. "I am perfectly on board with you venturing into the white deep, as long as you dress in layers," he allowed. "Mary, that okay with you?"

She shrugged, glad somebody would be having fun, "Fine," she said. "I don't want them out there by themselves, though. You want to go with them?" she asked Marshall.

"I'll go, Mare…" Brandi offered, albeit somewhat dismally. "It's no trouble…"

But Alice wasn't about to let that happen, "Daddy, would you?" she bounced up and down, further drenching the rug. "Help me build a snowman!"

"Well, why would you want to make a snowman?" Marshall questioned. "When we can make an angel like you and your sister?"

This inspired more excitement for Alice, who was back at the door in a flash, but for Mary it recalled her to the fact that Norah hadn't said a word about this escapade. Granted, Max hadn't either but he never said anything. The development in Norah was much more abnormal.

"You mind?" her man was careful to ask as Mary kept a watchful eye on her oldest. "We probably won't be more than an hour; it'll be dark soon."

Mary didn't really intend to say no, to keep him from a begging Alice and her entourage, especially since Marshall was already halfway to the door and reaching for his scarf. With a lucid smile, she shook her head.

"Have at it, Eskimo Bill," she fabricated, joking lightly. "I've got Squish. Just don't blame me if you catch frostbite."

"It would have to be at least thirty-two degrees for it to begin to develop," he informed her while Alice started trying to pull his coat off the hook. He turned to his nephew, "Max, you'll have to watch your glasses, pal. They'll get foggy."

Mary sat sentry while everyone got themselves situated, Robyn chattering a mile a minute. Marshall was too preoccupied with himself and most of the children to notice that Norah was actually taking her jacket off. Brandi had ditched everyone with the promise of staying indoors, and brought her sister the snack Marshall had whipped up.

It wasn't until they were ready to roll that he finally spotted his step-daughter.

"Norah, don't you want to come?"

The sisters paused from where they were sharing the crackers to look up. Mary could see in Norah's face that she had a plan; she was just figuring out how to execute it. Her dark eyes were working to appear deadpanned and aloof, but she knew exactly what she wanted.

"Mom, I have some hard math homework," she didn't even look at Marshall, but spoke around his lanky, covered body. "Fractions. I need help. Can you show me?"

If Marshall weren't so bright, he'd have given his services at the drop of a hat, not wanting Mary to have to worry about schooling with her illness. But, he could pretty well figure out why Norah was asking – either _she_ wanted to be with Mary, or she didn't think Mary should be shut up with her thoughts. After Jinx.

"Uh…" the mother's gaze wavered on Marshall's for a moment, confirming their mutual thoughts. "Sure, Bug. If you're sure you don't want to go out."

Norah shook her head, "No. I want to finish."

"All right…" Mary wasn't going to force her to share her motivations. "Bring it here; Brandi and I can take it to the back; there's more space in the bedroom."

With that, the noisy gang commenced out into the bitter cold of the front yard, Robyn and Alice squealing and screaming the entire way. Norah shouldered her backpack once more and followed her mother and aunt to the bedroom as promised. Mary told her to spread her papers out on the bed while Brandi took a seat, cross-legged at the end, and the elder propped against the headboard.

It was plain within a few minutes, however, that Norah did not require any assistance whatsoever. She knew her numbers, and it only confirmed Mary's suspicions about wanting to keep her company. It didn't bother her. She had an intuitive and surprisingly sweet child, considering who her mother was.

With her daughter sprawled on her belly on one side, Mary upright on the other, with Brandi smushed in-between, this was the most relaxing afternoon Mary had-had in the past few days. Unfortunately, she was much too quick to remind herself of what lay around the corner whenever she started feeling laidback.

"Twelve times eleven is what again?" Norah wanted to know, and Mary could see by the bewildered look on her face that she was asking for real this time. She tapped her pencil on her chin in thought.

"One thirty-two, honey…" Brandi gnawed on her nail as she reported.

"Right…"

"That's fast math," Mary quipped tiredly. "When did you get so good with numbers?"

"When I started working retail nine years ago," Brandi was even swifter to defend herself. "You learn quickly when the adding machine is busted."

"Jesus, an adding machine…" Mary scoffed in reminiscence. "That's prehistoric. Do you remember that one mom had when we were kids?"

Jinx had been a slip of the tongue and Mary paused as Brandi stared her down. Norah continued scratching on her paper, but the two of them remained locked in limbo for seconds, trying to decide how to go on. Fortunately, Brandi eventually chose a somewhat pleasant route, trying not to make it more than it was. After all, they were going to have to learn to talk about her at some point.

"The one with the endlessly long spool of paper?" her little sister prompted, and Mary picked up the thread.

"You could go like, six months without changing it," she recalled. "But, it didn't even work right. Jinx spent hours at a time cursing at the damn thing trying to get the numbers to punch in."

"Yeah…" Brandi's laugh was a little sadder, but she managed. "She always talked about what a cheap piece of crap it was."

"Didn't have her rushing to get a new one though," Mary responded with disdain. "Figures."

She shook her head at the absurdity of thinking a useless object was worth anything, and luckily Norah kept her from mulling much further with another question.

"You flip the second one over for division, right?" she wrinkled her nose, making her a dead ringer for the woman she was speaking to.

"Hell if I know, Bug," Mary was honest, but given that her blonde-headed baby was already working, it seemed she didn't really need the answer. "Why'd you want to stay inside on this beautiful day anyway, huh?"

Her cynicism was prevalent as she motioned toward the window, the glass almost ringing with the shouts and screams coming from the four people who dared brave the cold. Mary wondered if they were all able to forget the tragedy they'd been facing, even just for sixty minutes. She couldn't, even if the pain didn't seem as prominent in this piece of time. It helped to have Norah so close.

"I didn't want to get all wet…" Norah replied sensibly, not lifting her eyes from her page. "And besides, all Robyn and Alice want to do is build stuff and make snow angels…" she seemed displeased. "If it were just Marshall and Max – maybe dad – then I'd go."

It was a good excuse, but Mary wasn't fooled, and judging by the simpering smirk on Brandi's face, she wasn't either. Norah was impeccably sharp though, and knew how to weave a plausible tale. Snowball fights and forts were more her style, and with Marshall tending to the ladies, she wasn't going to get a taste of that.

This brought something more recent to mind, "Do you remember that year Marshall took you sledding down in Nob Hill, love?" she asked. "You were three…maybe four…?" she squinted trying to put the story together.

"Oh, yeah…" Norah smirked. "That was before Alice was born…" Mary didn't miss how this seemed to gratify her; it was tough having a baby sister. "Dad came too. They spun me on the saucers and I got so dizzy I threw up in those bushes," she continued with an appropriately gruesome face, finally abandoning the math. "You were so mad…" a laugh.

"They had taken off with my flesh and blood!" Mary protested. "And made you sick! They were in for it Bug, and you know it."

Brandi was chuckling now, "I actually remember that too," she murmured quietly, shifting upward onto her haunches and deepening into days past. "Robyn was about two. We made cookies with mom and she tried to eat all the dough…"

"Leave it out for sticky fingers, that's what happens…" Mary turned her hands palms up to indicate.

Until Brandi had brought it up, she'd forgotten that Jinx had been there. She'd stuck an apron on Mary and said she needed to get in touch with 'domestic side' while the boys had been out tobogganing. She had adamantly refused, but the cookies had been a reasonable price to pay on a snowy afternoon. It was one of the first times Mary had felt like her and Marshall were becoming a real family.

"Jinx made those snickerdoodles…" Norah whispered, leaning her chin in her hand. "With the cinnamon. They were so good…" her voice turned softer still, like she was sensing the memories weren't so fun anymore. "She let me eat about eight of them when I got in from the snow."

"And she made you hot chocolate too, didn't she?" Brandi chimed in, her voice sounding thick. "She sure spoiled you girls…" it was said with affection, and rumpling of Norah's straight locks.

The youngest flicked her narrowed eyes to Mary, "Kind of seems like a long time ago now…" she reflected slowly. "I mean, you and Marshall weren't even married."

"Hmm mmm…" Mary shook her head absently, lost in thought.

Norah's good judgment made her realize they had run their limit on this. The room had gone silent except for the frolicking outside. Brandi had just let her hand rest on Norah's hair, stroking automatically and without direction.

Mary couldn't help but pin down how Norah had immediately gone to the happiest times she'd had with Jinx. She reveled in all the goodness she'd brought to her; how she'd stuffed her full of cookies and warm drinks. Mary couldn't ever remember that happening in her own childhood, but shouldn't she have acknowledged that Jinx had made up for it with the girls?

She had, hadn't she? Norah was living proof. Why couldn't Mary have told her so?

The buzzing quiet was wrenched apart by the slam of the front door, and Mary jerked back away – her sister and daughter not far behind – to hear Alice's desperate wail.

"Mommy! Mommy, I have to go potty!"

And with about six layers on to boot. They'd been out there maybe forty minutes now, and she doubted Alice was bluffing. Considering what had happened yesterday, she couldn't afford to take chances anyway.

It took her a moment to snap back in completely, "I…I'm coming!"

Suddenly, she was anxious to leave Brandi and Norah for something so trivial, and did her best not to kick both of them in the head as she swung her legs off the frame. She was halfway there, probably looking a little disoriented, when Brandi tried to step in.

"Mare, do you want me to help her?" she asked in a polite but nonetheless bleak voice. They'd bummed hard and fast. "You can stay with Norah…"

"I can do it…" Mary shook her head, refusing guidance yet another time. "Apparently, you're the one with the math brain anyway…"

It was an ironic statement, the older sister thought to herself as she ventured into the hall. She'd mocked Brandi's calculating skills back when the younger had tried to figure out who Norah's father was – when Mary had still been pregnant. When she'd been deciding to go with adoption. There were days that choice snuck up on her.

Barreling that one out of her mind, as there was no room for it among everything else; she jogged over to Alice, who was shivering in the entryway. The striped hat she was wearing clashed horribly with her pink coat, yet another hand-me-down of Robyn's. Her jeans were snowy and coming out of her boots. But it was clear that, despite the bathroom emergency, she was having a grand old time.

"I didn't even know I had to go…!" Alice shared once Mary knelt and started getting her unzipped. "Daddy asked to make sure. He said I should hurry, so you don't have to be up so long…"

Mary grinned at the way her husband wanted her to stay off her feet and rest, but this was nothing. She could handle a little undress, and before she could tell Alice that, she was at it again.

"I'm going fast enough?" she inquired, which was pretty funny since all she was doing was standing there. "Daddy might be mad if I'm not…"

Foolish child, Mary thought. Marshall couldn't be mad at Alice if he tried. He was shamelessly in love with his daughter.

"No Alice, you're fine…" her mother finally spoke, working her fingers out of her gloves. "You stayed off the carpet like a good girl," she kicked it up a notch, perhaps trying to make up for how poorly she'd dealt with her accident before. To change the subject, "You having a nice time?"

"Yeah!" she stated with extra vigor, eyes bright and shining underneath her hat. "Robyn and me built a princess castle! It kinda fell down, but it looked really cool…" she continued. "And daddy and Max threw snowballs at us; they were so cold, but I hit daddy once in his heart and knocked him over!"

Mary couldn't tell, underneath all the enchantment, if Alice thought Marshall had been kidding with his little show or not. It didn't look as if it mattered though, and she went right on babbling.

"He made a snow angel too, and he got snow in his hair…"

Mary was nearly through getting her prepared for the bathroom, lamenting that she'd have to put all this back on in two seconds. But, it was the end of Alice's thrilling tale that made her look up at her daughter – her pale blue eyes glistening, practically dancing in their joy. How was she able to do this – just forget? Jinx wasn't even on her radar.

"I don't think there's anybody else in the whole world that's funnier than daddy," she declared with no shortage of conviction. "Don't you think so, mommy?"

Mary allowed a tiny laugh to escape, to run her palm on Alice's freezing face while she sniffled and waited for a response. She sounded distinctly like someone else she knew. She well-remembered a little girl this size that had adored her father.

At least Marshall deserved it.

"Sounds about right," she affirmed. "Go on and pee, Big Al…" she hitched in unattractively. "I'll wait so I can get your clothes back on."

With permission, Alice galloped on through the living room to the bathroom, perfectly content to go as quickly as possible and get back outside for her adventure.

When Mary had her fully clad once more, however, the sun was beginning to sink in the distance, and she knew their time outdoors was limited. Instead of going back to the bedroom, she found herself journeying to the front window, pulling the curtains aside and watching the frivolity Alice had just recounted.

With something between a rise and fall in her heart, she saw that it did indeed appear the party. Robyn looked like a snow bunny, her long hair tied off in pigtails underneath a sunny yellow hat and matching coat. She skipped from one end of the yard to the other, tugging on Marshall to get him to join. Max gamboled around the edges, a little hesitant of how to join in the fun, but it seemed to Mary that Marshall had broken him out of his shell a bit. That made her happy.

Alice was all over her father – getting him to throw snowballs, getting him to lie on the ground, showing him her packed ice, pointing to things on the horizon. Mary was amazed – truly – at the amount of attention he paid her when it was wet and freezing and difficult to tromp through the drifts. His love for that kid was as pure and real as it was ever going to get.

When twilight fell and the stars began to twinkle on the white-frosted earth, Marshall began beckoning everyone inside as promised. Oddly, this made Mary want to retreat back to the bedroom. She'd enjoyed it when it was just a spectacle, but now the exhibition was about to carry itself to a different level. She wasn't sure she was up for it, feeling empty and strangely cheerless for all the merriment being spread around.

Therefore, she enlisted Brandi and Norah to help with boots and hats, able to slip away unnoticed. When Marshall finally found her in the bedroom, it was dinnertime. His hair was matted and full of static; stubble-ridden cheeks blazing in patches of pink. She was also pretty sure his nose was running from where she laid on the bed with more of her 'arrangement' documents.

"Hi…" he greeted her somewhat understated, not wanting to appear too jovial. "It is getting a trifle brisk out there, I do admit. You would never know by the kids, though. They're immune, I think."

He went to the closet and pulled his shirt over his head, replacing it with a dry one he wore to bed. He moved on to pants as he resumed the report.

"Max was getting a little chilly at the end…" he admitted. "Poor boy; he had to keep taking his glasses off and rubbing them on his glove because they fog over…" he chuckled sadly, back to Mary as he jumped into his plaid pants. "I told him he could go without, but he really can't see otherwise."

Mary tried to imagine Max, already so awkward around the girls, blundering about in the snow without any eyesight. She was glad he'd kept the spectacles on. Robyn would've had a field day with that picture.

"Anyway…" Marshall turned from the doors, gasping just a little still. "How did things go in here?" he asked. "Norah get her homework done?"

Mary didn't bother with pretenses, "She's such a liar," said with love. "No way did she need my help."

"Ah…" Marshall vocalized indistinctly with a fond smile, making his way over to the bed. "She loves her mama; she's trying to do her part."

Mary nodded, not really wanting to hash out Norah's reasons for staying indoors at this moment. She was feeling closed-off from the others, having missed out on their pleasurable afternoon. Marshall was clearly over the moon, no matter how he tried to put a lid on it. It was upsetting that he felt he had to squelch his happiness for her.

"You're looking better…" he offered when Mary had no response, bouncing gently onto his side of the bed. "Not so flushed. Maybe you just had an off day."

That was a load, Mary thought. She likely would've been on the fast track to 'healthy' this morning, if not for the fact that she wasn't sleeping and had tried to go to work in a blizzard. It irritated her, and yet she couldn't stop it for anything. She knew she must look grumpy and sullen, knew she was going to ruin everyone's good time by being selfish because she'd wanted that escape too.

Evidently, her brooding was manifesting as depression, because Marshall took his index finger and tipped her chin upward to look at him. His hands were still cold, but his eyes were vibrant, even in their disquiet.

"I just hate it when my girl is sad," he whispered.

His sincerity was overwhelming, and Mary wondered at that point if she could tell him. She could tell him Jinx might've died thinking Mary didn't love or respect her. That she'd died wondering if her harboring desire for James had outmatched a care for her mother. That she was scared her kids – Norah and Alice – did a better job at four and ten valuing their parents than she'd ever done for Jinx. And that it was all too late to know for sure.

"Mare, don't be afraid to talk to me…" he edged her softly. "I've got time; Brandi's with the kids. What's going on?"

He still had not gotten her to open up about her nightmare, but it pretty much revealed everything, didn't it? That was much too far. She would start with a smaller, pettier truth. The bigger facets could be left for a different day.

"I just…" she sighed and Marshall wove his arm around her back, so her head automatically slipped into his chest. It was surprisingly warm, considering where he'd just been. "I don't know how it's so easy for everybody to forget…" she admitted, feeling him begin to stroke her hair. "Everyone else can just leave it alone – not even think about it. Look at Robyn between yesterday and today. She's like a different kid."

Marshall knew this was not the brutal honesty he was hoping for, but it was a start. Baby steps would get them there eventually. He pulled his fingers through her long, silky curls and tried to listen to the implicit gestures here – the disappointment in her voice; the quiet quality of her phrases. She might not understand how the others managed to leave Jinx in the dark for a day, but she wanted to.

"I don't think Brandi's forgotten…" he started to say in a serious voice. "I think she still seems pretty down in the dumps…"

"But, how do the kids do it?" Mary interrupted. "How do they move on like that?"

Marshall was quick, "Because they're kids," he supplied. It was simple, but it was true. "They're more resilient than we are. It's easier for them to see the possibilities around the corner, than it is to dwell on the hardships in the here and now."

Mary wanted to say that she had never had that feeling, not as an adult or as a child. But, that would open up an entire can of worms. She had not been the typical child, hence all the insecurities radiating in her psyche these days.

"And, Mary…" he wasn't done. "They lost their grandmother. For as hard as that is; it does fade more easily. They didn't lose their mother."

It was his way of saying she had suffered something greater. She didn't know if that was true, but she was content, just now, to have him play with her hair and feel the rise and fall of his ribcage underneath her cheek. She wanted to leave this for now. They were much too close to venturing into areas best left unexplored. Mary had already given him a fainting spell for these twenty-four hours. That was more than enough.

"You know what I was thinking…?" she asked quietly, knowing he would pick up on the shift, but hopefully be smart enough to leave it alone. "Watching you and Alice out there today? Listening to her talk about what a God you are…"

Marshall laughed, "What's that?"

She considered, knowing simplicity and 'the little things' weren't easy to come by – sometimes even impossible to hoard. Basic and uncomplicated desires were few and far between the older you got. The days of bedtime stories, scribbled drawings, and playtime in the snow were snuffed out far too soon to make way for the less enviable traits of adolescence and adulthood. When there was still room, on days such as this, to remind yourself of the tragedy you'd been befallen.

Marshall prodded again, "What were you thinking?"

His voice was gentle. Mary wanted it to carry her away to a place where the hurt could always be fixed.

"How nice it must be to be four."

XXX

**A/N: I don't actually know how much it snows in New Mexico down in the flatlands, but that's where that creative license comes in handy I guess!**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: This isn't my favorite chapter – and not very long either – but I guess you can't hit a homerun every time.**

XXX

When Mary got up on Thursday morning, it was with a feeling of dominant foreboding. With the visitation on Friday, she and Brandi had been asked to go down to the funeral home and review procedures for the approaching days. Although the visitation would be casual and without a service, the people with whom they were working wanted to get a clear picture of the funeral for Monday. Mary guessed this was because they might hold services over the weekend, but didn't meet with 'clients.' Or whatever you wanted to call them.

But, she also knew routines and sermons weren't the only thing they were going to 'review.' There was Jinx herself, and that was what made Mary feel like she was going to lose her innards before breakfast. She hadn't gone to the morgue; Marshall had been the one to identify the body. She had no desire to see it, and not being able to pin down her reaction beforehand made her extremely nervous.

Husbands in tow, the sisters sat side-by-side on a stiff leather couch in an office about the size of a broom cupboard. The man they were consorting with – a Mr. Simpson – was nice enough, maybe late thirties. But, he also had the distinct air of someone who had given variations on the same speech many times before. It all felt rather impersonal to Mary, and she was squashed uncomfortably between Brandi and Marshall on his sofa.

"As I understand it, you have chosen photos to be on display during the visitation?" Mr. Simpson asked from his spindly little chair in front of them. He had short brown hair and wire-rimmed glasses, which give him a mousy look. "Is that correct?"

"Yes," Marshall responded so the girls wouldn't have to. "I have them here," he patted a worn box in his lap.

"Of course," Mr. Simpson nodded his approval. "With the visitation and service being held at the church in Nob Hill, I am perfectly happy to call your chosen priest and ask him to take the photos over," he offered. "He can have one of his associates arrange them late tomorrow afternoon prior to the visitation."

"I think we can get them there…" Marshall had been leading most of this meeting, and he didn't stop now. "But, thank-you for asking," he knew Mary and Brandi probably wouldn't want the pictures in the hands of other people until the last possible minute.

"Sure. Whatever we can do to ease the process; just let us know," the other man reciprocated. "Do you have any other questions before we proceed to the viewing?" his tone dropped significantly to something more somber. "We covered the sermon and the eulogy; the hymns…"

It was pretty hard to ask much after you used words like 'viewing,' Mary thought. How did he expect you think of anything else? She was trying to get an unambiguous depiction in her head of how Jinx might look. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She'd look like she was asleep. Peter had been in charge of picking her clothes and jewelry, with minimal assistance from Brandi. Mary was sure he'd done an acceptable job.

"I think we're good for now…" Peter himself spoke up, making sure to glance at his wife before turning this off completely. "You want to clear anything up, hon?"

Brandi shook her head slowly, droopy-eyed and gaze cast on the window, "No. Thank-you."

"Mare, what about you?" Marshall prompted.

She used the same action as Brandi, "No."

She really wasn't paying attention. She remained unfocused even as the four of them stood and followed Mr. Simpson to a small, red-carpeted room with about a dozen flower baskets. There was a desk in one corner, unoccupied and lonely. There were books on the walls, and several Bible verses as well. It was deceptively inviting, Mary determined, especially once you spotted the big wooden coffin at the head of the room.

"I can leave you to your respects if you'd like," Mr. Simpson said before they were anywhere near the casket. "We're done for today. Just stop by the front desk on your way out; let them know you're through."

"That'd be great," Marshall told him while Peter said, "Thank-you," for about the fifth time.

Then they just stood there. Well, Mary and Brandi just stood there. Peter shuffled a lot, hands in and out of his pockets, coughing and clearing his throat. Marshall remained straight and tall like a soldier, with his eyes forward and entirely silent.

Brandi was quiet, dabbing at the corners of her eyes. Every few seconds, Mary thought she looked like she was about to put one foot in front of the other, but changed her mind at the eleventh-hour.

"I don't know what to do…" she suddenly revealed out of nowhere, shattering the silence with her blubbering tone. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do or say…"

Only Brandi would say that right out loud for everyone to hear. She was already crying and they hadn't seen anything yet. Peter took it upon himself to gather her in his arms, where she tipped her forehead against his chest, hiding her eyes from the other two. He kissed the crown of her head and proceeded with reassurances.

"Just do whatever feels right…" he whispered. "There isn't a right or wrong way. We don't need to stay long. Just make sure I picked out a good ensemble, and we'll be set."

Mary didn't buy that Peter's explanation was all there was to this. Despite her dread, she knew they had to look at Jinx. They had to say a final goodbye, one way or another. It was making herself do it that was the hard part. With Brandi and Peter momentarily occupied, she was getting the same kind of speech from Marshall.

"I can stay or I can go," he stated baldly, looking directly down into her eyes. "It's your choice. If you want to be alone, that's fine. If not…"

He trailed away, but Mary couldn't safely say that she wanted either of those things. She honestly did not get a choice like he claimed. She would have to stay with Brandi, and because Brandi was a wreck, she wasn't going to become one too. There was no option in there at all.

"I just want to get this done…" she told him huskily, Brandi pulling away from her husband. "You decide. It doesn't matter to me."

Marshall didn't look like he believed this, but Peter came up with a compromise as Brandi got herself back together, "We'll step right outside the door," he suggested. "We'll be there if you need us. Take as long as you want."

Both Mary and Brandi nodded their agreement, Brandi tacking on an, 'I love you' to Peter before he gave her the same in return. And then they were gone – gone as quickly as they'd come – leaving a resounding thud from the door in their wake.

As Mary faced that tiny box about twenty feet from where she stood, she tried to get those not-so-awful images back in her head. Asleep. She would look asleep. There was nothing scary or creepy or haunting about that.

Brandi gave a loud, dramatic exhale that was probably meant to calm her tears. Unexpectedly, she took up Mary's hand, and although the older sister wanted to yank away, she knew she could not. She could not be cold and unfeeling right now. Not today.

"Come on…" Mary whispered after Brandi initiated, squeezing her fingers. "Let's do it."

The casket drew closer and closer, and even though they were walking far faster, the march reminded Mary eerily of her walk down the aisle to Marshall – when they'd gotten married. It was jarring and disorienting to have a memory so thrilling mesh with one so ghastly. What was the matter with her? Why was she connecting them that way?

But, before she could begin to figure it out, they had reached their destination. Feet slowing, breaths quickening, heart racing, Mary knew with one more step they'd be able to see. The lid was already open. Somewhere, very nearby, was their mother. The last time they might see her face, in the flesh, ever again.

Brandi got the first taste. Mary knew it to be so because her sister's breath hitched into a yelp, much as Mary's had done after her nightmare. She grasped so hard on Mary's hand that her nails dug into the skin and pinched. It reminded Mary of when she'd been in labor with Robyn, and she'd refused to let that grip die. And there again, she was aligning moments where one had nothing to do with the other. Why?

"Oh God…" Brandi moaned shakily, her fingers slackening in her sorrow. "Oh, mom…"

While the younger just gave up and started bawling then and there, Mary was trying so hard just to breathe; just to remember how to draw air. The Jinx in the casket looked remarkably like the Jinx from her dream, only without so much rouge. She was insanely pale, so much so she looked translucent – see-through. Her lipstick was shockingly red, and Peter had picked out a rose-colored dress and sparkly necklace, earrings Mary had never seen glistening in her lobes. Her hands were folded, prim and proper, across her middle. Her eyes, predictably, were closed.

"This is horrible; this is just too horrible…" Brandi prattled shamelessly, leaking her tears all over the carpet, unable to tear her eyes away from the body. "She shouldn't be in there; she should be out here…"

Mary desperately wanted to tell her to shut up, but took the motion a different direction. She slipped her hand free for good reason, and guided Brandi to cry against her chest. She wrapped her close in her arms, resting her cheek inward, turning it from where she could no longer see. Once secure, Mary let her chin drop to her sister's hair, intertwining them close together.

"Shh, Squish…" she murmured out of habit. "You did good. We're finished. We're not having an open casket," absolutely not. "Mom would've been proud of you for stepping up and taking care of this."

She'd really gone out on a limb for that one. She hoped, beneath her dismay, that Brandi appreciated it. Because really, it was Mary that was taking care of it. With her sister buried and waterlogged, she was getting an excellent view of her mother, and it was silently ripping her in two.

She did not look sick. She did not look damaged, even with the pallor in her cheeks. She looked well-fed, well-groomed, and well-endowed. She looked _well_. And something that should've given Mary relief had the exact opposite effect. To have her look this healthy was agonizing. She didn't even look like there was anything wrong with her. Aside from the fact that she was dead.

Muffled inside Mary's shirt, "I'm so sorry, Mare," she hiccupped once. "I didn't think it would be this bad."

"Don't worry about it," the other supplied without thinking. "It's all right," she patted her back. "It sucks, but now it's over."

This wasn't exactly a church, but Mary still felt funny being vulgar in front of the deceased – not that Jinx would've cared.

"I can't believe she's not gonna see the kids grow up…" Brandi wasn't through, and Mary silently begged that this was it, because her heart was about to burst. "She adored the kids; all four of them…"

"Well, duh…" Mary made a brave attempt at humor in hopes that they could move this along, caressing a little quicker now. "Four little miniatures she could buy candy and clothes and crap for, and not even think twice. She thought our little heathens were perfect."

And with a violent jolt of her heart, Mary realized with a sense of impending doom, that there was nothing she loved more about Jinx than that.

XXX

**A/N: You little band of reviewers keep me going! Infinite hugs to you!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: I hope you all enjoy your New Year's! Mine will be extremely quiet!**

XXX

Mary spent most of the car ride home trying to think about anything but the literal lifelessness that was Jinx. But, once they dropped the dreary Alpert's back at home, it was only her and Marshall, and he was harder to hide from. Still, she kept her eyes out the window, stance turned away from him. He couldn't think by looking at her that she was in any mood to discuss.

It was sunny today, and it made the packed snow glisten in its drifts. However, it also made the roads slushy and gross; nothing anybody wanted to slog through if they could help it. The windshield and doors of the SUV were filthy.

Regrettably, keeping her mind focused on anything but Jinx was proving difficult. For some reason, she kept going back to the day Alice had been born, just as she'd recalled that first morning after her mother had passed. She hadn't a clue why landing there was so prominent; Jinx had been a fixture that day, but not necessarily a feature. She'd made only two trips to her in the labor room, once when she'd first been admitted, and another time about an hour before she'd delivered.

Maybe it was the weather that was doing it. After all, it had been dreary and dismal that November as well. Mary didn't have a better explanation.

_The beeping was always what annoyed Mary the most about hospitals. When she'd been shot, in labor with Norah, and now with Alice. That relentless, endless bleep-bleep with those infuriating, unhelpful heart rate lines was going to be the death of her. If this kid didn't twist her apart from the inside out first._

_She needed Marshall to come back. He needed to be here right now. She was in no position to be alone, not when she'd just gotten here and had no idea when the next contraction was going to slam her. Not to mention, people had been prodding and poking her at every available moment. Surely he could make them go away._

_She hadn't had a good start with admission. They'd said her blood pressure was too high and to 'relax.' As if. Then they'd spent probably ten minutes trying to get the IV in her vein. Her arm was so sore by the time they'd finished she'd wanted to hit somebody. But, instead of giving into her rage, she just felt rattled and overwhelmed. She didn't imagine that feeling went away the longer her labor progressed._

_When the door opened, it was not Marshall, but Jinx, wearing a too-sweet smile and an electric blue top with buttons. You'd think she was dressed for Christmas dinner, not the birth of her fourth grandchild._

"_Hi sweetheart…" she crooned in that sugary way she often did. "How are you feeling?"_

_Mary didn't really know what to say, afraid if she spoke she might start crying. She wasn't sure why it was hitting her so severely just now. After staying up all right with brutal contractions, both she and Marshall had been certain she was in labor. They'd just had to wait until she was five minutes apart to head for the hospital. Maybe that was what was making it so real. Well, Mary didn't like it._

_Jinx took up a chair at her bedside and did not even wait for an answer._

"_If they admitted you, you must be ready to go…" she assumed excitedly. "Did they say how many centimeters you're dilated?" she could hardly contain herself._

"_Six, I think…" she accounted absently._

_It was getting harder to talk, even without impending pain. She was out-of-breath and starting to feel very tight, especially confined to the bed. Her and Marshall and spent the night walking around the house so she would 'keep it flowing' as he said. Now she was stuck._

"_Mom, where's Marshall?" she asked after her report, wasting no time._

_She knew she must look desperate, flashing Jinx a face of pure yearning, and close to tears on top of it. Part of her did not care. Jinx had been a basket case enough times in her life to understand._

_Her mother turned pitying at once, "He'll be right back, angel…" she promised, reaching to stroke her upper arm. "He just went to give them your paperwork."_

"_Okay…" she breathed. "Okay…" surely that wouldn't take very long. "What about Norah?" she proceeded. "Did you talk to Brandi? Is she gonna be able to get her after school, or…?"_

"_Honey, slow down," Jinx implored in what was clearly supposed to be a soothing voice. "If you get all worked up, your blood pressure will start spiking," she said knowledgably. "Brandi's fine with picking up Norah. That should not even be on your roster."_

_But, trying to talk about Norah was fast-becoming a terrible idea. Mary, already so close to the edge with the upcoming birth of her second daughter, could not hold it in. She didn't know what had her so nervous – she'd done this before, after all – but it was too much. The tears came in rivulets at first, making her sniffle; making her nose leak. If only Marshall were here._

_Jinx noticed at once, and Mary could see she was worrying her. She wanted to stop, but her hormones had obviously reached the height of their insanity. Her mother transferred her hand to her daughter's hair and fingered it, speaking softly._

"_Mary, darling…" she whispered. "Don't fret about Norah…"_

_Mary had started to explain before Jinx was done, "I need her to be here," it came out as a pitiful sob that made the tears run faster._

"_Norah?" the older woman furrowed her brow._

_Mary could only shake her head, frustrated that she did not have enough of her wits about her to explain the right way. The room was stuffy, and the pillows were swallowing her whole, and that incessant beeping was going to drive her to the brink…_

"_Alice…" she eventually spilled out._

_It was the first time she'd said her name aloud, and Jinx was clearly surprised._

"_I didn't know you'd picked a name, sweetheart…" she leaned in, elbows on her knees, obviously trying to improve Mary's mood to something sunnier. "How did you come up with Alice?"_

"_I still have to check with Marshall…"_

"_Oh, he'll love it," Jinx waved a no-nonsense hand. "Tell me how you came up with Alice."_

_Mary was fully aware she was just trying to get her to chill out and it made her feel like even more of a nut. But, her head was only able to stay in one place right now, and Jinx was working to fix it firmly on the name. She tried to remember where she had, indeed, picked the moniker._

_With a swallow, "I don't know…" she still sounded murky. "Well, a couple weeks ago you took Robyn to see that play? I don't know; the one with the trombones…"_

_Jinx chuckled, "The Music Man."_

"_I don't know," Mary repeated, wishing her arm would stop hurting. She had enough to be going on with. "But, Robyn told me practically every day I was on bed rest about the little girl in the show, and how she could do a better job…"_

_Another laugh, "Amaryllis," Jinx provided patiently. "She's right. She could do ten times better than the prissy miss they had."_

_Only a grandmother would say such a thing, Mary thought. She was probably the one fueling Robyn's ego, but that wasn't where this was headed at the moment._

"_Anyway, she's been bugging me to the name the kid Amaryllis."_

"_I do admit that would be interesting," Jinx conceded._

"_Well, it's stupid, but Marshall and I talked about it – kind of like a shortened version…" she was getting breathy again and knew she'd have to stop soon. "We were laughing because if you take the 'Mary' out of Amaryllis, then what do you have?"_

_She fed her mother a watery, weak smile, trying to convey the rest without words. Jinx grinned warmly back, understanding, and extended her index finger, wiping the stray tears from her lids. The gesture was so doting, and so maternal, Mary wanted to cry all over again. Hadn't she said Marshall would be back soon?_

"_That's beautiful…" her mother expressed, but again Mary had to interrupt._

"_I need her to be here," she said it a second time, and more urgently, now that Jinx would get it. "I just want her to be here; I can't…"_

_Jinx tried not to show how disheartened she was that Mary was still upset, and resumed wiping her face with her bare hands, extending one to get her to calm. _

"_Honey, she's coming…" she swore, understated but firm. "I know you're tired, baby, but you can do it. You did it before…"_

"_You said I wouldn't want this to be like Norah," Mary argued. "But, I do. She'd be here by now if it were…"_

"_No, sweetheart…"_

_Jinx seemed certain about this, letting one of her hands rest on Mary's chest. She shook her head and gave her daughter her most direct stare, unyielding and resolute._

"_No, you don't," she refuted again. "You were so-so scared when you had Norah, Mary," she reminded her. "You don't want to go through that again…"_

"_I'm scared NOW!" Mary burst, shocked at herself for admitting it._

_Jinx kept on, "This is different. Marshall will be with you, you'll work through it together…"_

_But, I'm scared now. I'm scared now…_

"Mary? …Mary?"

The voice, steady and cool, sounded far away, like it was off in the abyss. It seemed to echo and resonate in Mary's eardrums. She heard it several times over and yet wasn't quite sure it was essential to say anything. After a few more tries, and a touch on her arm, she knew she had to speak up.

Not turning from the window, which seemed to be stationary, "Hmm?"

"We're home," Marshall said slowly. "You've been so quiet since we left. Is everything okay?"

He knew it wasn't. He knew everything, and that was why Mary had to work twice as hard to conceal her secrets from him. She was amazed, really, that he had stuck with her this long. He hadn't been kidding, those months before Alice had been born, when he'd said he'd take her no matter what. She had evidently been quite moronic about the marriage, because here he was. She'd reverted quite spectacularly, and he never budged.

As it was, she was remiss on how to respond. She was leaning her forehead on the frosty glass, not even seeing him. She knew by the way her cheeks had grown hot that the tears from her recollection had fast-fallen in present day. They were understated and sly; running in slopes and stillness. But, they were there nonetheless. And still sliding.

"You want to tell me what you're thinking about?" he nudged when she stayed frozen.

He must've thought Jinx – dead, pasty, casket-bearing Jinx – was what was causing her to button up. In some ways, she supposed it was, but she was going to turn things around with a unique truth.

"We almost named our kid Amaryllis."

She still wouldn't face him, and yet would've loved to see how he reacted to that bold statement. It had to have been so far from what he was expecting. But Marshall, in Marshall fashion, took it in stride.

"We did not," he proclaimed affirmatively. "We took a variation on Robyn's flowery version and made it our own. What brought that on?" he was curious.

She was quicker on her feet this time, "I told Jinx about it…" this might make more sense to him. "When I was in labor. She was the first to know that's the name I wanted. Even before you."

Marshall was too kind and too generous to be offended by this undisclosed information. If Mary squinted just enough, she could see his reflection in the glass. He seemed to be smiling. It was getting chilly in the car now that he'd cut the engine in the driveway.

"An honor for a grandmother four times over…" he declared. "You know, I always think Alice really resembles Jinx. She's got those stunning dark curls and that milky skin…"

He had deemed her in the sharing mood, and she'd let him believe it. But, the reminder did nothing for Mary's already fragile mindset. The wetness had company now, and it became a little full-fledged. She had to sniff, nodding all the way through to try and ward it away, but it was no use.

"She does…"

Using her vocal chords only made it worse. Her throat turned rough and raw with the effort being made, and Marshall gave up his game almost instantly. He reached out a long, supple arm and allowed his palm to rest on her shoulder. A shuddering shoulder.

"Mary…" he muttered in the tenderest way he knew how. "I am begging you, inspector. Please let me help you…"

He needn't have said he was beseeching her, because she could hear the ache and the longing in his voice. He sounded terribly sad, like he was failing her. He shouldn't feel that way. It was all her fault she couldn't own up to the thoughts she might've had about Jinx before she'd gone.

"I cannot stand seeing you like this…" he blundered onward. "You don't have to hide from me; whatever's really bothering you, we can talk about it…"

She wasn't so sure – she wasn't sure _at all_ – but she finally forced herself to look his direction. He was pitched forward, blue eyes fraught and wrung hard with helplessness. He was trying so-so hard, and she wasn't giving an inch. She just didn't know how to express or convey what she was struggling with. It wasn't just Jinx. It was James too. She still had this sensation that he should be with them; he should be lending a hand.

Which, of course, was the dumbest thing Mary had ever allowed to enter her mind. Alive or not, James would be nowhere near them for the funeral of his ex-wife. He'd proven he'd abandoned them from the start.

"It must've been so hard to see her…" Marshall was chattering, desperate for her to find a phrase to cling to. "It was hard for me too; it's nothing anybody wants to handle…" he assured her. "You're entitled to your pain, Mary. It's what makes you human; it proves your heart's beating. Not that I needed proof," he added gallantly.

She wanted to say – for starters – that she worried Jinx hadn't known how proud she was of her for getting help and turning her life around. How could Jinx have realized that when Mary was sure she'd never said it? Not in the way it needed to be said; with love, with affection. It was only with an air of relief or even trepidation that it could all be snatched again at a moment's notice.

But, what came out her mouth was entirely different, Marshall's beautiful eyes probing hers for the answer to her problems.

"I was so afraid…" Mary heaved ungracefully, trying to wish her tears back inside. "When she came home from rehab that first time that she was going to drink…"

It wasn't what she'd planned, but in many ways it spoke to the same truth. It was evidence she'd had no faith or stronghold in her mother from the very beginning. That was what truly bothered her right now, wasn't it?

"All right…" Marshall was working not to be thrown by the randomness of it all. "Well, that's natural, Mare. It is a hard road to recovery; relapses aren't uncommon…"

"I wouldn't let Brandi throw out my liquor," she revealed dismally, beginning to wipe at her eyes and stem the flow. "It's like I _wanted_ her to screw up."

It was the same fear she had tried to express to Stan the day before; that she relished the malfunctions and let-downs of other people because it made her superior. She'd been accused of that by Jinx herself. She was seriously sick about the idea that it might be true. All these years of thinking she'd changed for Marshall and for the kids – and so nobly – and it could mean nothing at all.

Her husband shook his head slowly, "No, I don't think that's it at all…" he informed her in a steady tone. "I think you wanted her to get used to life where alcohol is going to be readily available. You wanted to throw her in headfirst. It's part of who you are, Mary," he insisted. "It doesn't have anything to do with being bad or wrong."

Well, what Marshall had just said was what she'd told herself at the time, but she couldn't say for certain if that was the real reason she'd kept the booze in the house. Her father had always been waiting for Jinx to make a mistake, or so it felt. He hadn't wanted any part of her at any time, no matter what garbage spewed from his mouth.

She was like him, wasn't she? She'd spent so many years not even giving Jinx a chance. And yet, he was the one she wanted here. There was something morally unethical about the workings of Mary's mind. She was more confused than ever.

"I just wanted her to get better…" she tried to rationalize aloud. "That's all I wanted…"

"Of course you did," Marshall preserved gently, thinking they were far off the beaten path by now. "Of course you did; why wouldn't you?"

Mary shook her head, indicating she had no idea, her skin feeling warm; her nerves jangling. She had nothing else to say. She'd tried to explain, in a round-about way, but it didn't make any sense to anybody, not even her. Marshall, knowing she was beyond perplexed, leaned in his seat, taking her face in his hands. He granted her a long, slow kiss on the lips – a kiss that, for better or worse, made Mary forget for two seconds what she was facing.

She couldn't bring up James, and the fact that she longed for some version of him to be here and take care of this. The thought of how Marshall would react was too daunting.

He was zeroing in on her now, cradling her frame, their eyes inches from each other's.

"She loved you," he let each word become its own; distinct and pounding so she could not miss a beat. "She loved you. You have to believe that."

Marshall couldn't fathom any other explanation for her bizarre behavior until she told him otherwise. He could only guess that she was making herself crazy over whether or not Jinx died with a passion for her eldest daughter. He didn't understand how she doubted it, but she was Mary.

"She did not just love you," he went on, still holding, seeing her eyes go watery. "She admired and respected you in spades. Hold onto that, Mare."

But, all Mary was holding onto was that her mother had indeed had a high regard for her daughter. But, wasn't the child supposed to worship the parent, and not the other way around?

XXX

**A/N: See you in 2013! My eternal gratitude to those of you reading!**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Happy 2013 everyone, and thank-you for the New Year wishes! **

XXX

Mary wondered if there would come a day in the near future that she got tired of having her house full of people. It was barely big enough for the four people who lived there, and adding three, sometimes four extra made for an extremely tight fit. Just the same, with the kids running around, it gave Mary a fool-proof excuse to keep her emotions on the inside. Nobody wanted her coming unraveled with little ones around.

Even though they were minus Norah this Thursday evening because she was with Mark, Mary still knew it was in her job description to play stoic. It wasn't hard. She'd been doing it for years.

Sitting at the island with Brandi while Marshall fed the remaining children their dinner at the table, she lifted the top off the box of photos they'd presented at the meeting that morning. Marshall had toted them along just in case, but they actually hadn't narrowed them down yet. Mary knew the time had come. With the visitation the next evening, it was time to fish or cut bait. She'd contributed a stack, and so had Brandi. Whittling down was the next step.

"Mare, before we start singling these out…" Brandi reached into a brown paper grocery sack on the floor. "I was finally able to get the key from mom's landlord – at the studio," she clarified. "I didn't start cleaning anything out, but she had about a dozen frames on her desk," that must be what was in the bag.

"Yeah?" Mary prompted, jiggling a pen for no real reason.

"Well, they were probably pictures mom really liked," she assumed. "And, they're already framed. We should probably include them for tomorrow, don't you think?"

"Yeah…" Mary repeated, but she was waving an indistinct hand, as though to swat the suggestion away. "But, lets hold off on those for now," she didn't want to clutter the island. "We need to narrow the box down first," she took a sip of her beer that was sitting by her elbow; a long and chugging swig.

Brandi took up her water automatically, and seemed to think that since Mary was downing the bottle that she was beginning to feel up-to-par.

"Marshall said your fever's gone," she relayed with just a tiny bit of skepticism. "It's good you won't be sick for all this…" she shrugged. "…Stuff."

Mary scoffed indistinguishably. It was true her fever had finally vanished, but that was no guarantee she wouldn't be sick come tomorrow or Monday.

"He also said you passed out at work yesterday."

It was massively obvious that this was the real reason Brandi had brought this up, and her curious eyes showed it. Mary glowered darkly at Marshall over in the corner, but he was busy scooping out macaroni and cheese from a pot, and didn't notice. She supposed he'd blown her secret because he was concerned, but still; she didn't enjoy it.

"So what if I did?" Mary was very detached about it, not meeting her sister's eyes and beginning to paw through their box without really looking.

"Well, are you all right?" Brandi pushed.

"I'm sitting here talking to you, aren't I?" she snapped. "Let's forget it."

Brandi didn't want an argument any more than Mary did and followed her direction. She stuck her nose in the carton as well and took out a stack of photos. Mary was looking absently, not really caring which ones they chose to display and which ones were left behind. But, she knew Brandi would put a lot of thought into her choices, and she was probably expected to do the same.

There were so few of Mary posing with Jinx, she reflected as she thumbed further. Shot after shot of a bouncing, blonde Brandi on her mother's lap; one after another. Mary and Brandi were together quite a bit – at the beach, in the front yard, sitting in the back of James' pick-up truck that he'd left behind. Brandi was a weedy little baby; her hair stuck up in a cowlick in the back and her clothes were mismatched. Mary wore a lot of baseball jerseys and cut-off shorts, except in the winter where she was buried under thin coats and garishly purple earmuffs.

"Look at what mom's wearing in this one…" Brandi waved a Polaroid with a laugh.

Mary tried to smile and slipped it out of her fingers, but once she saw the image she couldn't keep the laugh in. Jinx, some forty years younger, had on a pair of acid wash jeans – thin as a rail – and a big floppy sweater; diamonds in shades of hot pink and bright yellow. James was there too, surprisingly enough. They both had beers in hand.

"That's some aggressive argyle," was Mary's comment, and Brandi chuckled again. "You want to put that one in?"

Brandi looked a little surprised, "I don't know. Even though dad's in it?"

Mary saw no point in acting like this troubled her. Like it or not, James had been a part of their lives at one point. She just wondered if Jinx would've put the nix on it, or if it made her – Mary – look like she was pining. The way she was.

"You're the one who said back when you married Peter that he's part of our story," she slid in nonchalantly. "He's part of mom's too."

"Well, one doesn't hurt…" Brandi decided with more convincing indifference, setting it in the 'keep' pile. "Mom's shirt is a riot. Besides, no one's going to know that's dad anyway."

How lovely.

"Actually some of the fashion choices all of us made could stand to be reviewed…" Mary guffawed as she came upon yet another faux-pas.

Brandi, maybe four years old, was wearing some sort of one piece shorts ensemble; it was printed in giant green flowers. Mary stood beside her, roughly ten, in denim overalls and a red T-shirt. The bib on her overalls was skinny compared to the rest of the fabric. The pair of them were sitting on the steps of their duplex; Mary squeezing Brandi so tightly around the neck she was screeching in protest. They were Norah's and Alice's age.

She flipped the shot around to show Brandi, "What have you got on here?"

"That's a coulatte," she said snidely. "The height of seventies fashion. Jesus…" she squinted, and Mary thought she was going to comment on the choking, but something else had caught her eye. "Look at you. You'd think that was Norah."

"What…?" Mary allowed herself a second glance, fully prepared to refute this, but upon closer inspection, she saw that Brandi's words held some merit. The shape of their faces was exactly the same, and since the photo was aged, you couldn't tell that Mary's eyes were lighter. Both blonde; both devious. "Huh…"

"I want that one up," Brandi declared. "It's cute."

"We are not going to start using words like 'cute,'" Mary cut in swiftly. "Start working on some adjectives."

She had thought her usual snarkiness might prompt a downcast attitude from Brandi, but on the contrary. She actually brightened, and Mary realized at once why that might be. She felt like things were back to normal, if only for a minute.

"Mom was actually pretty good about getting pictures of us…" she obviously wanted to keep the flow going. "Even after dad left; that's probably why she's not in very many when he was still around," she rationalized. "She was behind the lens."

"I guess," Mary wasn't sure. "I'm not in that many with her…" she couldn't resist chiming in, trying to sound as though she did not especially care.

She expected Brandi to make an excuse about this, even though she was too young to have remembered why Mary's face did or didn't appear. But instead, she fished through a pile, and had a picture in front of her nose in seconds.

"You're in this one," she tapped the white border of the snapshot with her nail. "That's the house we lived in when I was born, isn't it? In the kitchen?"

And Mary, quite unexpectedly, felt her heart stall inside her chest. It was as though it stopped mid-beat, crashing hard against her ribcage, but the bones managed to hold it within. She allowed herself to clasp the photo in both hands, her fingertips creating their own frame around the tiny little square.

How on earth had she never seen this before? Where had it been hiding? She was sitting on the counter, and Jinx had obviously done her hair, for it was infinitely more styled than it had been every other day of the year. It was tied off in two blonde braids on either side of her head, like Heidi in the mountains. She was wearing a white dress with yellow checkerboard print; it had a frilly collar and puffy sleeves. If her legs weren't dangling off the counter, she was sure she'd have on little tap shoes. Just by looking, she knew it was probably the nicest dress she'd ever owned as a child.

But, the kicker was that Jinx was wearing an outfit almost identical to the one her daughter sported, just shy of six years old. It was canary yellow as well; the only difference was that the checks were larger and the collar was pointed instead of circular. They were both smiling; Mary almost a little too much. She was cheesy; her eyes were pinched together. But Jinx looked…

There was no other word for it. Stunning. Her brunette hair was curled around her face; her lids touched with the minimalist amount of eye shadow. There wasn't a beer bottle, wine glass, or champagne anywhere in sight. She looked like everyone else's mother, and Mary had no idea why. Where had they been going? Why were they dressed up? Nobody would ever be able to tell her.

"Do you like that one?" Brandi asked dimly, not catching on to the sort of emotions this was evoking for her older sister. "Hand it back, I'll put it in the right pile…"

Suddenly, Mary had no aspiration to give it to her. She didn't want to let go of it. There was something magical about its confines; they looked content. They looked like something they'd never been – ordinary.

"Mare?" Brandi prodded when she said nothing, simply gaped.

Before she could explain where this out-of-body experience was coming from, Marshall wandered into their midst; children fully-equipped with their dinner. Mary sensed him more than she saw him; his presence – not to mention his abnormally long shadow – often preceded his voice. Prior to speaking, he placed a hand on her shoulder, but with his eyes on Brandi.

"How's it going over here?" he asked. "Starting to come together, I trust."

"In bits and pieces," Brandi replied.

"My-my…" Marshall continued, leaning over the shoulder he touched now. "Who is this gorgeous child in the feminine attire?" he was teasing, trying to keep the mood light, and it kind of worked.

Mary toyed with a half-smile, "Would you believe me if I said it was Norah?" she quipped, falling back on Brandi's line from earlier.

"I might," he nodded. "You two have quite the likeness. Nice get-up you're wearing, Inspector Shannon," he nudged on. "I'd think you were a girl."

But, Mary's focus was not on his jokes, nor was it on herself. She'd seen pictures of her herself before – even wearing skirts and dresses, hard as it was to fathom. No, her gaze was alert on Jinx. The slender, curvy shape of her figure; she looked the part of the dancer she always claimed to be. She'd obviously put some effort into her looks, and she looked so…so…

Happy? Proud? Her green orbs were turned ever-so-slightly away from the camera and onto her daughter. She was basking in the joy of her own flesh and blood, and Mary was hard-pressed to keep her thoughts to herself on this one.

"Isn't mom beautiful?" she couldn't resist, steering them away from the subject of herself.

She glanced upward at Marshall to see if he agreed, and he grinned quietly, basking a little on his own. He was glad to see her on an upturn, no matter how long it lasted. He nodded solemnly and dropped a sweet kiss on her hair.

"She certainly is," he concurred. "A dazzler, if I ever I saw one."

Brandi was finally picking up on the trend here, "Mare, you should hang onto that," she offered thoughtfully. "Keep it here; it doesn't need to be with the ones up front."

Mary nodded, no intention of arguing, "Thanks Squish."

They were left without any room for Brandi to reciprocate when Alice jogged up, hot on Marshall's heels. Her mouth was cheesy and milk-stained, like she'd wolfed down her dinner in no time flat. From the sound of the clanking in the distance, Robyn wasn't far behind.

"Daddy, I want to see," she declared, tipping up and down her heels, but she was still too short to glimpse over the counter. "Can I see the pictures?"

"Did you eat your dinner, sugar?" he asked as any father was known to do.

"Mmm hmm…" she hummed obediently.

"Even the peas?" he sounded dubious, raising his eyebrows at the little girl. "Technically speaking, that is your fruit for the day."

"Peas are a vegetable," Mary couldn't resist pointing out.

"Ah-ha!" Marshall waved a pompous finger and had a smug look to go along. "You would think so, but scientifically they are considered a fruit when they flower because they have seeds. In cooking, they are still widely accepted as a vegetable."

"They're still _nasty_," Alice insisted, scrunching her face in disgust.

"But did you eat them?" Marshall shoved onward.

Alice hedged, "Some of them. I shared with Robyn. It's good to share."

Nothing beat a preschool philosophy about spreading the love, Mary thought. Marshall looked a little exasperated, but decided not to fight it. Instead, he hoisted Alice off the ground so she could get a proper view of the photos. Mary had thought he might set her atop the counter with the artifacts, but he actually placed her in her mother's lap. Mary had to shift accordingly, so as not to squash her child, but once she got her hitched around, they were set.

"Who are those people?" Alice inquired, pointing at a stray that had somehow missed both pile and box.

Mary picked it up and turned it around; the image showed Mary and Brandi in the living room of their old duplex. Brandi was the size of a loaf of bread and barely recognizable. Mary held her on the couch, her arms stiff and her expression a little begrudging. James sat comfortably at her side, his hand on the baby's head. Mary wasn't smiling.

"Well, that would be me…" she flashed the slick paper for Alice's benefit. "And, that's Brandi…"

"That's not Brandi!" Alice latched on, leaning even closer as though further inspection might make it possible. "No way!"

"Sure is," the aunt chimed in. "I was brand new there. Everybody's that small when they first start out."

Alice was still shaking her head in disbelief when the next question came, "Who's that man?"

Mary could feel the collective tension between Marshall and Brandi; they never knew how she was going to react when it came to probing about James. Still, they ought to have known she was going to put up a façade in front of Alice. She was intelligent enough not to make a scene. Whom did they take her for?

"That's my dad."

Alice bit on her lip, as though concentrating hard while she studied the photo. She even moved her mouth side-to-side, a comical effect with the leftover cheese and milk rings.

"Is he going to be coming?" she eventually turned from her position on Mary's lap to look up at her. "To say goodbye to Jinx? That's why daddy said people are showing up tomorrow."

Though the answer was perfectly clear, Mary still didn't know quite what to say. Marshall's soft, sympathetic sigh really didn't help the awkwardness that had stolen over them. Mary tried to remind herself that Alice was little. She'd been schooled on James. She'd just forgotten.

"Alice…" Marshall spoke up first, and it was in a voice of complete rationality as he looked into the blue eyes that matched his own. "We've talked about mommy's dad; do you remember?" he asked before going on. "He isn't here anymore. He died like Jinx. You weren't born when that happened, and Norah was just a baby."

Mary was impressed and a little uncomfortable about how natural Marshall made the whole thing seem. Part of the ill-at-ease feeling came from knowing the explanation was so far from the whole truth, but death was confusing enough for a four-year-old. They didn't need to add abandonment on top of it.

Nonetheless, the speech obviously triggered something in Alice's memory, because she twisted another time in the seat to face Marshall.

"But, he'd come if he could, right?" Mary could sense in her tone that she didn't think so. "Mommy?" her eyes darted over her shoulder. "He'd come if he could."

Mary was trying not to look at Brandi's somewhat-stricken face on the other side of the island. She was attempting to busy herself with the remainder of the pictures, but it was obvious she wanted to avoid this at all costs. Mary just wasn't sure how, and this was getting into dangerous territory. If Alice kept talking much longer, Marshall was going to uncover a big source of his wife's discomfort concerning this nightmare.

"Listen gorgeous, I'm not sure mommy's really up for talking about this right now…" Marshall tried to shut her down, and while Mary appreciated it, she also knew he was wrong.

Now, later; today, yesterday; this week, or next month. It made no difference when. If she got it out now, on her own terms, she could convince Marshall she wasn't toiling over the idea of James and whether he would've been with them had he been capable. Had he been a different man.

"Marshall forget it…" she said quietly, shaking her head. "It's not like we can't be concise."

He didn't approve, she could tell, but to hell with it.

"Alice, it's complicated," she started off with a bang, her child rotating for the third time to be alert for the storyteller. She was heavy on Mary's lap, the woman noticed, but she spread a kind of warmth as well. "My dad was not like most dads. He lived with me for a little while – until I was seven – and then one February…"

February. She'd had to. It was haunting her, no two ways about it.

"…He left," she concluded swiftly. "He left me and Jinx and Brandi, and he didn't come back until I was a grown-up," she was speaking a little quickly now in her rush to be done. "And then he died, and honestly Little Bit, I doubt he'd come even if he could."

It sounded harsh, she knew, and Alice cast her enormous, worrisome eyes. They were the color of the ocean; deep and plentiful and calming. Like Marshall's.

"Why not?" she whispered fearfully. "I don't get it."

Well, Mary didn't either. But, they'd gone this far; she might as well finish.

"Because he thought the life he had without us was more important than the life he had with us."

"Mary," Marshall interrupted sharply, and she immediately registered his, 'that's enough' tone.

She'd said it all very directly; very straightforward. Not one bit of it was untrue, but she was sure that Marshall's indication to stop was for her benefit and not Alice's. Evidently, her 'calm, cool, and collected' demeanor hadn't fooled him. She was _too_ succinct for it to be believable.

"Was he a bad man?" Alice asked in a small voice. "Did he hurt your feelings?"

Bringing feelings into play wasn't helpful. Mary had tried to do this without the weight of feelings, for all the good it had accomplished. Marshall was more suspicious than ever, and judging by the look on Brandi's face, the whole conversation was depressing her. Her eyes had sunken in and she stared at the pair of them, a droopy, fatigued air in her very bones.

"It doesn't matter anymore," Mary concluded safely, evading her daughter's investigation. "Here…" she rifled through the box at hand and gave her a stack of more recent photos; ones that included her, her sister, and cousins. "Take a look at those for me. Tell me which ones you like."

Alice knew an order when she heard one, and she wiggled down off Mary's lap and headed for the living room. Robyn even left her plate and joined her, Max by himself at the round table.

Mary was trying to keep it together, but she wasn't sure the other two were going to let her. Marshall was dying to get her alone; she recognized the hungry look in his eyes.

"Would you look through the frames in that bag?" she said a little too loudly in order to keep him at bay. "Brandi picked them up at the studio."

He wasn't going to interrogate her with so many people around, and so he simply nodded, sliding the sack across the floor to peruse.

Still though, Mary had to have known he cared for her too much to let this go completely. After a few silent minutes of her being allowed to browse the remaining pictures, she felt his strong arms weave around her back. She started at first, thinking he was busy, but when his chin fell onto her shoulder, she relaxed. His breath was warm; his voice sturdy and compelling in her ear.

"My life without you was infinitely more miserable than my life with you," he whispered urgently, falling back on her phrase from before, trying to erase the pain of a father who'd left his little girl to deal on her own. "Count on that."

Mary was pretty sure she could count on that, as she patted the hands resting on her chest. Even if it was the _only_ thing she could count on these days.

XXX

**A/N: It doesn't ever seem to matter the story – pining over pictures is usually involved! I saw some familiar names in my reviews for the last chapter, and that made me super happy! Thank-you so much!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: I don't believe I have anything to say upfront! Enjoy!**

XXX

Friday afternoon found Mary in a hair-raising dilemma; a dilemma that should've been a small issue, but was fast becoming a catastrophe. In the back of her mind, she knew it was only her self-inflicted obsession that was making it a mess, but she couldn't let it go for anything.

She had nothing to wear to the visitation. They'd gotten the kids squared away. As a compromise, they were allowed to wear their nicest jeans and shoes to the visitation with whatever dark tops they owned. They wouldn't have to dress up for real until the funeral, because Mary didn't want them in their Sunday best twice. They were kids, they would complain, and it wasn't worth it.

But Mary knew, as the eldest living kin, she could not wear jeans. She was going to be standing at the front of that church shaking hands for hours on end, and she didn't need snide looks from the mourners about her attire. Brandi had picked up some black dress a few days before; while Mary insisted over and over she must have something in her closet.

Newsflash – she didn't. All she had was a suit and a shirt that buttoned-up the center, like the ones she wore to court. It wasn't right; it didn't fit the build. And besides all that, it reminded her of the pseudo-self she'd depicted in her dream, and that recollection was sure to cause problems.

Therefore, when Marshall showed up at the house around 2:30, fully prepared to get the girls ready and be at the church by five, Mary was still slogging through her closet. The kids wouldn't be home for another hour, but she was getting desperate.

"Hey…" he strode into the bedroom, easing the door all the way open from its crack. "What are you doing in here?" he asked inquisitively. "What's with all the hangers?"

There was a heap of outfits piled on the bed, Mary knew, but she had her head stuffed in the closet and wasn't listening. Marshall was bright enough to put the pieces together, though.

"You looking for something to wear tonight?"

"That was my goal when I started…" Mary huffed impatiently, making a lot of excess noise as she scoured the confines. "I don't think the end result is going to be favorable."

"Oh, well…" she could tell by Marshall's voice he didn't want to escalate the situation. "You have much lovely apparel," he decided. "I am sure we can unearth something."

Mary whirled around, blowing her hair out of her face and eyes blazing his direction. It was almost infuriating how calm he could be when she was such a wreck. Why were they night and day when it came to situations like these? She'd appreciated it when they'd been partners, but not now.

"The only black thing that I own that's nice enough is that suit…" she gestured wildly at the ensemble spread across their pillows. "And, I'm not gonna wear it. Jinx would freak – she'd say I looked like I was going to give a deposition. Which I will," she concluded.

Marshall knew better than to press the issue and took a different route, "Well, if you do not approve of that…" he shrugged. "Then, let's look for something else. You could use the pants from the suit and wear a different top."

Mary was not in an agreeable mood and stuck a hand on her hip, "I don't want to look like I'm going to the office," she said with a severe sense of authority. "I want to look…" she despised herself for thinking it, but it was true. "Good."

Marshall, as her husband, clearly could not let this go by. He believed far too heartily the opposite direction to allow her claim to remain swirling in the thin air without shooting it down.

"I think you look good when you to the office," he pursued mildly. "I think you look good no matter what you wear."

Mary had every intention of telling him that he could hardly be looked upon as unbiased, but took a different route, shooting him a dirty look in the process.

"I suppose if it were up to you I'd be trussed up in some of these fat clothes I have buried in here…" she whipped around once more so she wouldn't have to face him.

While Marshall was a little wary of the sarcasm and where it might lead, he decided to play along for the time being.

"Ah, your maternity wear…" he breathed in reminiscence. "I do admit I found you quite striking in the sweatpants and baggy shirts."

"Your pregnancy fetish really is sick," Mary snarked, throwing boxes aside. "Probably the very last thing I want to talk about."

She didn't mention that the reason was because all of the cheerful-Jinx-memories that were penetrating her subconscious had to do with when she'd been pregnant. She wasn't in a weepy temper this afternoon. She was in an angry, irritated temper, and it almost felt good. It made her feel normal. The fixation with an outfit was only counteracting that.

"I would think it might be a good distraction," Marshall offered, and she could tell he was moving closer to her; she tried not to tense. "Keep your focus elsewhere – remind you that you've been through other hard times and made it out unscathed."

"Unscathed," Mary scoffed heartlessly, examining a dark purple shirt and wondering if it could pass for black. "Norah and Alice left me anything but unscathed. And five hours with Norah; twenty-two with Alice is not a lifetime…" she was referring to her labors; there had been an end in sight.

There was no such glimmer at the end of the tunnel this time. The road stretched, endless, eternal; rocky and rugged with terrain. The analogy didn't match in the least.

Almost as quickly as the thought entered her mind, she felt Marshall's long fingers caress the small of her back. He knew her too intimately not to recognize that her antagonism and inability to hash-it-out came from sadness. She was a woman of many masks, and he'd been working for days to try and view the girl underneath.

"It was a poor comparison…" he murmured while Mary slowed her assessment of the garments now hanging rather helter-skelter. "Forgive me?"

"This time," Mary snorted in response.

And still, he didn't go away. It meant she was going to have to turn back to face him soon, and she didn't have any inklings to do so. She was being childish about something extremely trivial, and that was a side of herself she never relished Marshall witnessing. She contemplated, vaguely, what on earth could throw the man off balance. He never even wavered.

"Wear the suit…" he persisted quietly. "You will look like the professional, law-abiding woman you are. Jinx wouldn't want you dolled up – she'd want you to look like you."

"I'm not so sure about that one," Mary softened her tone, liking the way his fingers tickled against her spine. It was dark in the closet, and back in the light where Marshall stood was a world she needed to strive for. "She spent a lot of time trying to show me off in some feminine radiance I didn't possess."

"Hmm…" his chin dipped onto her shoulder with a tiny laugh. "I think you maxed out on your femininity when you bore children. I like to think Jinx understood that."

He was beginning to catch on, Mary thought. From their conversation in the car the day before, he had to know she was constantly caught in recollections involving Jinx's presence when the girls had been born. The only trouble was, Mary didn't know why that was her fascination. She half-expected Marshall to come up with the answer before she could.

"Come on…" he coaxed playfully. "You know I can get in anyone's face if they dare make fun of your specialized attire. You have my word on it."

At this, Mary finally allowed a small, reluctant smile to escape. She slid through his hands, letting them rove the entire ring around her waist, like water. When she looked up into his luminous, ever-cerulean stare, she could see that he was pleased. Pleased she had relaxed – pleased she had given him a break from her rage.

"I wish we didn't have to do this," she whispered, thinking she might as well say so while she wasn't feeling so strung-out. "It seems really trite. None of it feels real."

Marshall sighed and sunk Mary further into his arms, compressing her back so that she lay almost dipped in his embrace.

"I would say that I know, but alas – I don't," he was a good man to admit it. "Not really. I've never been where you are," he continued. "But, we'll get one down tonight, have the weekend to reenergize, and knock out the second part on Monday."

Mary laughed bitterly and let her head shift away from his glance, "You make it sound like building a house or something."

"Isn't it?" he did not even pause. "In some ways," with that, he took his finger and pushed her cheek from whence it had come, proving she couldn't avoid. "We are building – more like _re_building. You have to break it down to start new."

Well, Mary didn't need a code to decipher _that_ one. Despite her mellowing out, he knew that she was still harboring something, and was willing to use her semi-decent-transformation to plumb whatever it was. In some respects, he'd been getting close with the emergence of the girls.

"I'd really rather just run blindly until I get to the finish line," Mary fed him predictably and, to his credit, he tried not to look maddened with this unhealthy view.

"It might be easier that way…" he conceded, using the hands that were supporting her to rub the muscles in her back. "In the short term," he couldn't resist adding. "In the long term, I fear it will only complicate the loss further."

Mary didn't know how to argue with that, and so she exhaled instead, allowing his gentle touch to seep her further still into his chest. They were half-in, half-out of the closet now as Mary found herself getting enveloped, resting her ear to the buttons on his shirt. It was safe, this far inside. She didn't have to look at him.

"I don't know if I can do it twice," she whispered.

More massaging, "You can," he swore up and down. "I'll be there."

Of what she had left on this earth, Mary knew she couldn't ask for more than that. He was being so patient; waiting her out, not playing his hand too soon. She knew it was a simpler task when she wasn't coming apart at the seams, and here in his huddle, it was secure. Ever so slowly, she made to come out of her proverbial shell.

"I keep thinking about when the girls were born."

It was very flat and understated, but Marshall took it and ran.

"Mmm hmm…" he hummed from above her. "Yes, I've noticed that seems to have been on your mind – along with a few other things."

Like James? She hadn't prepared herself for _that_ yet.

"Any idea why?" he resumed.

"I'm not sure…" Mary was truthful, feeling the point of his chin rest on her hair. "I don't know if Jinx has anything to do with it. I mean, she wasn't there for the duration with Alice – not like with Robyn."

"As I recall, you and Brandi did most of the grunt work when it came to Robyn."

He was trying to inject some humor so she'd keep going. She could practically hear him shouting, 'Don't stop now!' In spite of his efforts, Mary couldn't quite laugh if she wanted to unravel the mystery.

"But, I just…" she groaned once, inadvertently, from how soothing his hands were against her spine. "Mom just acted so…" she wasn't certain saying it aloud would really help. "When Norah and Alice showed up – both times, she acted like she was really…"

Mary realized before it came out that she'd been about say, 'proud of me,' which was honest, but not exactly a secret. She hadn't been keeping something like _that_ from Marshall – just her father and the shame. Why would her mother's pride be bothersome? Aside from the fact that Jinx had stated it over and over when it came to the kids and Mary had likely never said it once to the woman herself.

Oh.

Guilt swarmed like a fresh batch of hives. Like wanting James wasn't bad enough.

"Really what?" Marshall wanted to know.

Saved by the bell. Before Mary could begin trying to explain, her husband's cell phone began to vibrate in his pocket. Mary felt it against her leg from where she was pressed against his torso. She heard the sigh that escaped from his chest, and forced herself to back away, skittering into stray hangers in the process.

Pushing her hair out of her eyes and trying to remember why she was in the closet, she watched Marshall maneuver the phone around so he could answer.

"This is Marshall," he greeted the caller. There was a polite lapse of time while the other person spoke, and then, "Yes…"

His eyes swiveled upward to meet Mary's, whose heart was pounding for no concrete reason whatsoever. Strictly speaking, it didn't even matter if she confided that portion in Marshall at this point. All he'd do was say it didn't make any difference; Jinx had loved her regardless of whether Mary ever expressed it, and move on.

"Well, she's standing right here with me, so no problem…" Marshall said cordially, and Mary began to wonder who was ringing them up, especially hours before they were supposed to see everyone on the planet.

She became distinctly suspicious when Marshall ran a hand over his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was nodding, though Mary wasn't sure why since the caller couldn't see him.

"She did?" he questioned. "Sounds like she's given in to whatever's going around…"

The strange way in which Marshall phrased his sentences meant Mary wasn't able to glean much from her end. She waited to see if she was going to get any more clues before hanging up.

"…No-no, that's fine…" he insisted kindly. "I will be there in just a little bit. Thank-you so much for calling." There was a second nod, "Goodbye."

Mary pounced the minute he hit the off button, stumbling out of the closet and over shoeboxes, "Who was that?" she demanded. "What's going on?"

Marshall tapped his phone in his palm, feeding her a resigned and disappointed look. She also thought she could see the wheels spinning in his head of how to work out a plan. There must be a discrepancy of some kind.

"We've got a little problem…" he stated, proving Mary's theory.

"What?" she hassled. "Something with the church?" she was thinking along the lines of a double-booking.

"No…" he refuted. "That was Alice's preschool…" he waved the phone to indicate, and before Mary could bombard him again, he had given up the ghost. "They said she threw up twice after lunch…" a very big sigh. "They took her temperature, and they're pretty sure she's got the flu."

Sweet mother of God. Was this the chain of more unfortunate events to come? She should've known this would happen; she'd contaminated the entire house with her illness over the past week. It was only fitting that somebody pick it up, and Alice had been the first. She wondered if Norah, Marshall, or anybody else would follow in the days down the road.

"Shit…" Mary cursed, following suit of Marshall and rubbing her eyes. "I _would_ get the kid sick…"

"It isn't your fault," Marshall asserted at once. "There isn't anything you can do about it. But, we will need to figure out whom to leave her with tonight…" he jumped right on board for a map of action. "Because, if she really does have what you did, she isn't done vomiting and she can't leave the house."

In one fell swoop, Mary suddenly felt the stirrings of selfishness. Getting a sitter was going to suck, especially since everyone they knew was probably attending the visitation. But, she'd been so focused on the change in plans that she hadn't given Alice a second thought. Poor, sickly, weak little Alice – alone at school, and about to left home with someone other than her parents. Mary wished with a power higher than herself that they could postpone, but she knew better. They were stuck with a very bad set of circumstances.

"Who do you think she'd prefer?" Marshall almost winced, knowing this was a lost cause.

"Besides you, you mean?" Mary quipped, and he shrugged while she considered. "I don't know…" she did not want to have to fool with this. "Joanna or Mark, I guess. Joanna's probably a better bet…"

"Yeah, you can't beat that maternal demeanor when you feel awful…"

Mary's heart snagged uncomfortably. She knew that only too well.

"I'll give her a call…" Marshall went on without noticing Mary's hitch. "With any luck, we won't be late, anyway."

With any luck? Mary thought with scorn. Hadn't Marshall learned by now that luck was something mere mortals simply did not possess?

Especially on an evening marking the first step of saying a very…very long goodbye.

XXX

**A/N: To me, this chapter feels a little jumbled. I try to convey that Mary is confused – about James, about Jinx, about why she is remembering Alice being born, etc. I'm not even sure about some of it, but part of me hopes that comes through with Mary's attitude. And now, her and Marshall have sick Alice to deal with! The madness never ends!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: I am sure it gets old hearing this, but I really do feel a tremendous amount of gratitude for those of you that are reading and reviewing. If you are simply taking time out of your day to read, I already commend you. If you're leaving a few words, I can assure you that I hold them close and they make me feel special and, dare I say, talented. I am in no way asking you to leave more than usual, but know this is one of those days I am hanging on to every kind word you've ever said. :)**

XXX

The visitation, as Mary suspected it might be, was long, gloomy, and tedious. The hall at the church which housed their line of people and Jinx's photo display was cavernous – much too big and high-ceilinged. It was also an old building and not entirely well-lit in the main passage, giving the whole place a drab, grayed-out feeling.

Mary stood up front, guestbook of condolences out in the foyer, Brandi on her left and Marshall on her right, with Peter leading the pack. Jinx, in her coffin, was stationary nearby – closed, as promised. Mary, however, tried not to think about what lay inside that box, and just tried to be grateful they didn't have it open for people to gawk. She'd seen enough.

In some respects, the entire evening was worse than she'd anticipated. There were so many people, and part of Mary had thought she might enjoy some of the respects being made, but it turned out there were a whole handful she'd never even met. There were some familiar faces from James' wake, AA pals and whatnot, but trying to accept condolences from total strangers wasn't easy on her. Unfortunately, it had a different effect on Brandi, who cried through a lot of the handshaking when people told her how lovely Jinx had been.

Robyn and Max sequestered themselves out in the lobby. Mary guessed Robyn had put herself in charge of the guestbook, and she didn't have a clue what Max was doing. Norah, no matter how many times her mother insisted, refused to leave Mary's side and listened to every well-wish that came through. The parent was shocked, and rather pleased by her sudden maturity.

Still, the shame brooded her gut pretty badly as the evening wore on, thinking of Alice, puking and miserable, stuck at home with Joanna. Life wasn't fair as a four-year-old, and her daughter had wasted no time letting them know it when they'd ditched her with someone who wasn't even flesh and blood.

Yet, despite all the strangers, there were some recognizable men and women going through the line that Mary could not have been more thrilled to see. They brought her comfort after having to make nice, over and over again, with people she didn't know.

For instance, there was the man with the dark, olive skin and the wavy, jet black hair – the million dollar smile he was not flashing on this day of all days. Brandi nudged Mary with her elbow before she could even open her mouth.

"Is that Raph?" she whispered.

Mary answered in kind, "Don't know who else it might be."

"That's so sweet that he came…" Brandi crooned, hand over her mouth and about to start bawling all over again. "I didn't know he even knew about mom…"

Mary turned to Marshall; a moment to spare while yet another AA buddy shook hands with Brandi.

"Did you tell Raph?" she wanted to know, merely curious and not affronted.

"We may have had a word or two," Marshall hunched his shoulders, hands sliding in his pockets. "I ran into his wife – Victoria, I think it is? – at the grocery store," he explained. "I mentioned something to her, and then he called the next day. He said he was very sorry to hear; I guess I forgot to tell you…"

"Well, he'll be able to tell me himself," Mary decided, but had to cut Marshall off in favor of the newest man at her post.

Nonetheless, she was getting pretty good at exchanging pleasantries with one corner of her mind, and thinking in a little private crook. It had been awhile since she'd seen Raph; they did run into each other from time-to-time, as Marshall had indicated. But, he'd not been privy to the current set of children in about four years – not since Alice.

When it was his turn, he opted to address both Mary and Brandi at once; the husbands blurring at the edges in favor of catch-up.

"Chico, I didn't know you were coming…" Brandi gave a watery laugh, trying out a sad little joke, and Raph gave her a polite half-smile in return.

"Well, I would not have missed it…" he dictated in that nice accent of his. "I was so surprised when I heard; I thought it was only right to come and give Jinx my best."

He had done well with the translation, Mary thought as she watched him hug Brandi briefly. Very briefly, obviously still unable to completely let go of the boundaries they'd nearly crossed all those years ago. But, he did initiate, and Brandi herself seemed moved regardless, so they were in calmer waters right now.

"I saw your little girl in the entrance…" Raph went on once they had split, abandoning Mary's gaze for a moment. "She told me I should write Jinx a very nice note in the book, and to not leave anything out."

By the way he smiled, Mary could tell that he found it amusing, and proved it with his next words, "She is pretty funny…" he chuckled. "Like you."

Brandi managed a shaky giggle as well, "Yeah, that's Robyn. Never takes no for an answer," it was said with fondness this time.

"And the little boy?" Raph inquired further. "With the glasses? I'm sorry; I have forgotten his name…"

"That's Max," Brandi nodded. "He's six. Robyn's nine."

Fortunately, for Mary at least, another straggler had pushed his way through the crowd to offer pity, ending further conversation. This gave the ex-fiancée a chance with her former bedmate, although she hardly thought of him as such anymore. He was just a caring, considerate man whom she was lucky to have been close to at one time or another.

"Hey Raph…" she intoned softly, matching his deep, swirling brown eyes. "Thanks for coming. You didn't have to take the time."

He just shook his head, "I wanted to come," an insistence. "And, I cannot make the funeral on Monday, so I thought this was the least I could do."

Mary nodded, unsure what to say, but feeling a little more relaxed just having such a calming presence in their midst. He and Marshall combined put a nice damper on the hustle and bustle of the evening.

"Well, I know Jinx would've been…" Mary searched for the right word to express what she was feeling. "…She would've been touched that you showed up. She always liked you a lot…"

There had to be something else she could say; something that would be meaningful without embarrassing Marshall nearby. It was tricky business, with the past and present lover standing within spitting distance. Luckily, her mind wasn't completely shot and something sparked way in the back, to pull quickly to the forefront.

"I remember how much she appreciated your help when Brandi was in trouble."

Mary was actually referring strictly to the arrest, but she supposed her statement spoke to a much larger whirlwind – one she probably shouldn't have brought up in a church, of all places. But, Raph was intelligent and took it in stride.

"I was happy to have known her," a generic, but sweet response. "Her and…you…"

For a second, Mary thought he was referring to her, until she saw that his eyes had strayed to her daughter, practically glued to her hip. The woman had forgotten she was with them until just now. She stayed quiet the entire time, just watching it all unfold, declining Mary's attempts to get her to go out front with the others.

"It is so nice to see you again, Norah," the man articulated with a genial smile. "You have grown a lot."

Mary looked down to see Norah grinning softly, eyes darting back and forth a tiny bit. She was about to ask if Norah even recalled her one impressive meeting with Raph, when she beat her to the punch.

"I remember you," she revealed, cocking her head to one side. "You're a third base coach for the Isotopes. You took me down on the field that one time when I was really little…"

Mary had to laugh, since Norah was still pretty little, "Yeah, you were about six, Bug," she patted her shoulder. "He's also Raph, by the way, not just some baseball player."

"Do not demote me, now…" Raph teased, and Norah spread her mouth wide at the little josh, undoubtedly glad to see her mother loosen up. "But…where is your other little one?" he peered around Mary's form. "I thought I remembered you and Marshall…"

"No, yeah…" Mary cut him off to appease his marginal confusion. "That's Alice," she explained. "She came down with the flu; she had to stay home with Mark's mom."

"Well, I would love to meet her sometime…" Raph expressed with a slow nod. "I am sure she is wonderful if she is anything like the two of you."

Mary really couldn't help but smile at the unrivaled benevolence he was granting all of them right now. A small section of herself that was probably heightened in this moment missed Raph. Not as a lover – by any stretch of the imagination. But, she missed his company and his sincerity; there was so little of that left in the world. The funny thing was, she remembered believing the exact same thing when she'd seen him four years ago. So much for the effort of keeping up.

"That's really nice of you…" she whispered to get this across.

"Alice would love to see you too," Marshall chimed in, finally deciding it might be appropriate to do so. "We might have to set that up sometime," he was so good at reading his wife's mind.

And with that, Raph signaled his agreement, leaving Mary with a much longer, much more heartfelt embrace than the one he'd given Brandi, even though he was already holding up the line. The fact that he'd shown up was weighing a little heavier now, and she thought she might take her turn at crying, but resolved to keep it together. Norah was standing right there, after all.

Once he was gone, however, her child couldn't resist getting her opinion in for once. She'd been mum for most of the night.

"Mom, he's cool…" she declared. "How come you don't hang out with him more?"

Mary laughed weakly, having fed Norah a cock-and-bull story all those years ago that she and Raph had been good friends that drifted apart. Leave it to this kid to find a likeness in him. Apparently though, Marshall was not entirely opposed to the inquiry.

"An interesting proposition," he dictated. "I would be more than eager for a luncheon here and there – his wife is quite pleasant…"

"Don't go getting any ideas, lanky…"

The guests continued to roll in throughout the night, and worn-looking friends from Alcoholics Anonymous weren't even the most well-populated group. Mary had never seen so many little girls with tears in their eyes and ballerina buns in their hair. She fielded compliment after accolade from their mothers about what an inspiring (inspiring?) teacher Jinx had been, and how much their daughter was going to miss her.

Mary felt a little awkward about how to respond to such flattering remarks, and often contented them with the phrase, 'My daughters will miss her too.'

All the dance-memories the women thought to share began to bear roughly on Mary's emotions and she was beyond ecstatic, therefore, when Stan and Lia entered at half past six. They were arm-in-arm; Stan in his classic grey suit and maroon tie, Lia in a gorgeous, flowy black and white dress that she would likely freeze to death in outdoors.

Neither one of them spent much time on Brandi and Peter, and segued immediately to Mary and Marshall.

"Hey kiddo…" her former boss greeted her sympathetically, voice low and tender. "How you holding up?"

He stood on tiptoe to kiss her cheek, arms around her shoulders in a sort of part-way hug. While he was shaking hands with Marshall, she responded.

"I was better an hour ago…" Mary knew she could be honest here. "I'm really losing some originality in what I'm supposed to say."

"This isn't a contest, Mare…" Marshall reminded her quietly. "You say what's on your mind, and you do your best."

"Marshall's absolutely right," Stan wasted no time in backing him up, and Mary began to feel outnumbered.

"Well, _he_ can say that…" Mary carried on rather spitefully. "Mr. Jinx-was-a-bountiful-spirit-with-a-love-unparalleled…"

Her tone was the closest thing to mocking you could get and for a split second she wasn't sure whether Stan thought he was supposed to laugh or not. Indeed, she didn't know if Marshall found it particularly amusing either, until the old chief proved he hadn't lost his sense of humor. He raised curious eyebrows Marshall's direction and snorted.

"You get that one right out of a book, Mr. Webster?" he asked with derision. "How to win the guests over?"

"I most certainly did not…" Marshall puffed out his chest. "Is it my fault I am well-versed in synonyms and metaphors?" he wanted to know, playing hurt. "I want to give my mother-in-law her due, after all."

"Yeah-yeah…" Stan muttered. "I don't know how you keep up with this one, inspector," he addressed Mary, jerking his thumb at the other man.

She had to grin at the effort they were making to have this seem like old times; to keep her mind off the troubles at hand. There weren't any two men in the world that were better at helping her forget her problems. She was reminded of this fact when Stan spotted Norah down below, and turned on his best grandfatherly-gaze.

"Hey, solider…!" he declared, slapping a hand to his forehead in a mock-salute. "Give me your best attention!"

Even at ten, Norah had yet to find this corny, and copied Stan at once; a mirror image with her hand over her eyes.

"Pretty good, huh?" she wanted approval.

"At ease, ma'am…" he nodded, and then scooped her inward for a bear hug, burying the girl's face against his midsection. With a jolt, Mary realized within just a few years that Norah might be taller than Stan, a thought too staggering to contemplate. "How you been, Norah?" he asked when they parted. "How old are you these days? Twelve? Twenty? Thirty?"

"Ten," Norah rolled her eyes. "You can't play that game with me," she insisted with a smirk. "Only Alice thinks it's funny."

"Ah, speaking of…" Stan gave the area the once-over as Raph had done. "Where is that little charmer? Not hiding, I hope…"

"She's at home," Marshall relayed for the second time. "She caught the bug that's been going around – probably the same thing Mary had."

"Oh, dear…" Lia finally spoke up, and Mary felt a small twinge of guilt for having left her out of the conversation. It just felt so natural when it was only the three of them, Norah mingling at the surface. "Poor thing; she must feel terrible…"

"I would say that is an understatement," Marshall laughed once, but then shrugged in resignation. "But, she will bounce back. Joanna's taking good care of her."

"Oh, but I have to see her before we go home to Washington…" Lia was firm in this request. "My trip would not be complete without those gorgeous blue eyes…"

"Gets that from her daddy," Mary whispered without even thinking.

Fortunately, nobody really heard her anyway because Robyn caused quite a stir when she came barreling up the aisle; long hair tied in a high ponytail on top of her head. She was lucky there weren't many people around; otherwise she was likely to get quite a talking-to from her parents, aunt, and uncle for making such a scene.

She screeched to a halt, out-of-breath, right in front of Brandi.

"What honey?" her mother was short on introductions, also running low on steam. "I only have a minute; what do you need?"

Robyn stuck an indignant hand on her hip, "You know some people aren't signing the guestbook," she reported haughtily and highly affronted.

"Well, they don't have to…" Brandi clearly found this unimportant.

"It's their choice, babe…" Mary piped up so her sister would have some support. "Don't go playing hall monitor out there," she winked to show she wasn't trying to be insulting.

"But, why would they come if they didn't want to _say_ anything?" Robyn wanted to know. "That's stupid…"

"It is not stupid," her aunt spoke up once more. "And how many people are we talking here? Two or three doesn't make any difference."

"It was this one lady…" Robyn was very quick to give details, like it was a police report. "She had long brown hair – kind of red, almost – and she had a badge on her belt."

"A badge?" Marshall interrupted, displaying a healthy concern. "Like mine and Mary's?" he flashed his star quickly once to help her recall.

"No…" she shook her head. "It was different, but I saw it, and I told her she _better_ sign because it was for Jinx, and Jinx needs to know who came to see her, otherwise she'd think nobody showed up, and it would make her sad, and…"

"All right sweetheart; all right…" Brandi waved an irritable hand at all the chattering, shaking her head as though to rid it of excess thoughts. "I don't know who that was, but leave everybody be. Don't go pressuring them to leave a novel…"

Robyn was dissatisfied, and it was obvious she enjoyed the attention her show was garnering from Stan and Lia. Lia had always adored Robyn for her zealous nature.

"They shouldn't come if they don't have anything nice to say; Jinx wouldn't want 'em here…"

"I'll tell you what, my darling…" Lia slid neatly in, leaning on her knees to face the girl dead-on. "Why don't I come out to the table with you and your brother for a bit?" she offered. "We can catch those who try to skip out without leaving their name…" a devious smile.

Mary was taken in by her generosity, knowing she would keep Robyn in check for a little while, while still feeding her need to feel important. As it was, the child nodded eagerly with this suggestion, and Brandi expressed her thanks. But, for Mary, the mention of a brother recalled her to the fact that their party was one short.

"Robyn…?" she had to speak a little louder to hear over what was fast-becoming a strategy with Lia. "Babe, where's Max?"

Nonchalance, "I don't know."

Brandi had busied herself with the next person in line and wasn't listening, so Mary picked up the slack, "He wasn't sitting out there with you?"

"I don't know," the girl repeated, a little annoyed now that she was being made to halt her plan. "He was for a little bit, but then he went to the bathroom."

Mary was sure there was nothing to worry about, but it didn't hurt to have her mind eased.

"Stan, would you check in there on your way out?" she inquired with a skeptical look on her face. "I just want to make sure he's okay."

Stan was more than happy to lend a hand, and said his farewells to his two former inspectors, while Lia raced with Robyn back to the foyer, ready to bust those who wouldn't leave their well-wishes for all eternity.

"Who do you suppose got Robyn all hot and bothered?" Mary impressed upon Marshall while they had the time, flexing her knees so she wouldn't get stiff. "Who _would_ come and not leave their name?"

But, no sooner had Mary speculated than she followed Marshall's thunderstruck gaze across the pews to an uncomfortable, but nonetheless professional looking woman. She was fifth in line, and she was twisting her fingers around, flicking her eyes to the photo table up front. Robyn was right; she did have brown hair with a reddish tint. It was long – long, and curly. She had oval amber-russet eyes and, as promised, there was a badge on her belt. It was not a star, but an emblem that signified her as a member of the Albuquerque police department.

Marshall let it loose in a voice of strained composure, "Abigail."

Abigail.

Mentally, Mary tried to prepare herself for this. It had been a long time. A _long_ time. Ten years, in fact. If those feelings of resentment still lingered in the ex-fiancée, she wouldn't be here, right? After all, Raph had made his peace with her and Marshall.

Then again, she hadn't left Raph for a more desirable mate. A mate she'd been pining after for eight years.

"I didn't say anything to her…" Marshall hissed at once, leaning in so he breathed loudly in Mary's ear, trying to keep the conversation from Norah. "I haven't seen her since…well…" he was obviously calculating the time frame too. "…Anyway, I wasn't the one who mentioned it," he concluded lamely.

"Relax, edgy," Mary feigned disinterest. "You know there's a grapevine between departments. Anybody could've told her. It was probably Delia," she added with a hint of scorn.

"Well, we'll be quick," Marshall promised, straightening as the woman neared. "It doesn't have to be anything drawn-out."

For _that_, Mary was grateful, but their cloak-and-dagger routine had finally caught the attention of her daughter. They really were not being as discrete as they could've been.

"What are you whispering about?" she vocalized, very close to the top of her voice. "Is it about Max?" she clung to the last name she'd heard, registering Mary's concern for the boy.

"No," Mary shook her head. "I'm going to have Stan look in on him…"

She had a sudden burst of inspiration in that Norah could go off and help so she wouldn't have to meet Abigail. But, before she could get the instructions out her mouth, it was too late. She was standing, face-to-face and eye-to-eye, with the woman who was supposed to have married Marshall. The woman who had almost been lucky enough to have him. Mary shuddered to think where she'd be at this point if things had turned out differently.

She spoke first, "Hi Mary…" two words, and the mentioned could already pick up the Southern twang. It seemed life in Albuquerque hadn't acclimated her voice. "I was sure sorry to hear about your mom."

There was an easy response for this, and Mary found it, "Thanks."

Abigail nodded, "I understand it was…unexpected?"

Mary bobbed her head as well, "Yeah. Kind of."

She was so short, so diminutive in her answers that it did not leave much room for conversation. She imagined she was making Abigail feel as though she shouldn't have shown up, which wasn't really her intent. But, honestly, should she have anticipated anything else after all this time?

Nonetheless, the lapse provided her the opportunity to have a few words with Marshall.

"Hey stranger…" her tone was quiet, and the tiniest smile crept onto her face.

Mary didn't know why, but this welcome made her reach for Marshall's hand, dangling ever-so-invitingly at his side. She squeezed once for posterity, and he squeezed back. When she groped downward, she noticed Norah, who was soaking this in with a large degree of interest.

"Detective," Marshall inclined his head, and clasped fingers with his free hand, a rhythmic up-and-down before letting go. "It's good to see you – very kind of you to come by."

"It was no trouble," Abigail stated casually. "Outside of…your mom…" her glance darted back to the inspector. "…Mary, how have you guys been?"

She hesitated, but fortunately Marshall was quick on his feet, "Well enough," he decided. "There's a nasty virus running through our abode at the moment. Our Alice is home with the flu."

Damn, how she loved Marshall. Mary couldn't defy savoring the sound of those words. She wasn't sure he'd had it in him to mention to his ex-girlfriend that they'd spawned a child, but he had clout. He must've really been feeling badly for his wife, to go the distance like that.

Abigail did raise her brows, but saved face, "Alice is your daughter?"

"Yes," Marshall agreed. "She's four. She'll turn five in November."

"I see."

She saw, all right. Mary knew the gal really was trying right now, but it was apparent without her usual sunny positivity that she was a little bit thrown. Maybe she'd just known better than to bring that kind of glee to a wake.

"And…you remember Norah, I trust?" Marshall journeyed onward, slinging an arm around the blonde little girl's shoulders, causing her to grin and wave at their newest guest.

Abruptly, Mary was rapidly viewing her daughter in an entirely different light. She saw her nearly every day, and so she rarely noticed how she might appear in the eyes of others. But, watching her now, a preteen whom Abigail had previously known only as a baby, she suddenly seemed appallingly grown up. She had such a nice smile; she was very cordial; she didn't interrupt or put on a performance. Her good manners had been honed by Marshall and Mark over the years.

"I do, actually…" Abigail forced a cheerful face and shook hands with the child. "It's been a really long time, though…" she disclosed. "How old are you, Norah?"

"I'm ten."

Mary could practically see the gears turning in Abigail's mind, trying to process that so many years really had gone by.

"I'm sorry, champ…" Marshall cuffed her shoulder another time. "We didn't make it to introductions. This is Abigail. Mom and I used to work with her awhile back…" And then, so the salutation didn't seem so cold, "She and I were pretty close for a time."

And Mary squeezed his hand harder.

"You know, I wasn't sure if this was Norah…" Abigail explained. "Or the…exuberant little one out in the lobby…" she was trying not to say obnoxious, Mary was sure of it, and she deserved a clarification.

"Yeah, that's Robyn…" Mary sighed. "She's Brandi's oldest," she jerked her thumb at her little sister. "Sorry about the guestbook fiasco; she has a habit of telling people what to do…"

"Oh, it's fine…" Abigail actually laughed, sounding more like her old self. "I tried to tell her, I wanted to come in first so you wouldn't see the name and be surprised. I'll sign on the way out."

"Whatever you want," Mary shrugged.

As they stood there, making small talk as they had made all night, Mary couldn't help reflecting just how much had changed since Abigail had been a major feature in her and Marshall's lives. Four children had come into the picture; there had been three weddings and the gain and loss of a grandmother. Stan was off in the capitol of the country, happily married himself. Marshall was in charge of the greater southwest, and Mary was barely an employee.

In some ways, it should've gratified her that she'd dealt with so many alterations. And yet with Jinx gone, she wasn't sure how much more change she could take.

XXX

**A/N: Little bit of a longer chapter, and with some surprise guests as well. (Don't worry yourself over Abigail, it is just a cameo.) Anyway…what I said up front. Have a great night! XOXO**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: I had some new reviewers last night, and while I appreciate them greatly, I hope nobody thought I was pressuring them with my statement upfront! It really was just supposed to be a thank-you and nothing more! :)**

XXX

By the time the evening drew to a close, it was after seven and Mary was exhausted. Peter and Marshall had to shoo away the last of the mourners so they could get out and go home. The first step was corralling the kids. Norah had finally ditched her mother and step-father and gone to fool around with Robyn near the door. Fortuitously, Mark had stuck around to take his daughter back to his place; a generous offer with Alice so sick.

But still, nobody was in the mood to chase anybody down once they got rid of the crowd. Brandi practically had to pin Robyn to the ground to get her to put her coat and gloves on. Peter was busy clearing up in the hall, and so it was Mary who noticed that Max was still nowhere in sight. She wasn't worried, as Stan had reported having seen him at their departure. Regardless, it was time to get moving and not waste anymore time.

"Babe, what did you do with Max?" the aunt questioned Robyn while she stood over the girl and her mother, a towering form with them on the floor. "You scare him away?"

"He probably ran back to the bathroom," Brandi assumed. "Have Marshall check."

"How many times can a kid pee in one night?" Mary didn't buy this description. "Stan saw him come out thirty minutes ago."

"Well, he's around here somewhere…" Brandi insisted absentmindedly, shoving Robyn's tough foot into a too-small boot, nearly getting herself kicked in the head. "Hunt him down and tell him we're leaving," she was short on temper.

Mary was about to tell her not to go ordering anybody around when this was her son they were trying to locate, but thought better of it. They were all running low on energy and didn't have much left to give. It had been a trying evening.

"Fine…" was the elder sister's response, not without a tiny wheeze of displeasure.

Before checking anywhere, however, she made her way to the glass double doors that would lead them out into the cold. Mark was helping Norah with her gloves; her little fingers had trouble working into each of the slots. But otherwise, her hat was on, her coat was buttoned – at her father's request, no doubt – and she was ready to go.

"I'll see you sometime tomorrow Bug, all right?" Mary addressed the girl. "Thanks for taking her, Mark," she transferred. "It's just easier with Alice out-of-commission."

"Whatever I can do to help," he said genially. "If you need me to keep her through tomorrow, let me know. I'm flexible; with the snow, the solar panel business isn't exactly thriving."

Mary chuckled, not having thought of that, "I guess that's true."

"You need anything else before we take off?" Mark inquired, pulling a ridiculously boyish cap over his ears; it was red and navy striped and made him look about twelve. "Everything squared away?"

"Have you seen Max?" Mary thought to ask, just in case. "He's been in and out tonight, and Brandi's ready to go…"

"Nope," he shrugged. "What about you, cutie?" he appealed to Norah.

"No…" she shook her head side-to-side. "You were looking for him earlier, weren't you? You haven't seen him since then?" she looked worried at the prospect.

"No, Stan saw him," Mary didn't like the way everyone was making this sound like some sort of investigation. "He's probably hanging out in there with Peter or something," she jerked her head at the wooden doors to her right which led to the main hall. "Forget it."

But, even as Mary said it and bid Mark and Norah farewell, she didn't entirely believe it herself. Max wasn't one to wander off or engage people in conversation. He was frighteningly introverted; to the point where he barely said two words. Most days, Mary loved this about him; he was simplistic and unfussy – very down-to-earth for a six-year-old. But today, of all days, did not seem like the best one to showcase this side of his personality. He needed companionship like anyone else.

"I'll go get Max…" she declared to the room at large while Brandi continued to struggle with Robyn's outerwear. "Be right back."

'Right' back suddenly became the furthest thing from the truth. She stuck her head in the hall, and neither Marshall nor Peter had him. She called into the bathroom, just in case Brandi had been correct, but there was no answer. Other than that, there was really no place else for him to be; a few offices and side chapels, but they were either dark or locked.

A feeling of trepidation began to rise in Mary's chest, reminding her a little too closely of when Norah had run off at the age of six. Picking up the pace, she shoved her way through a heavy exterior outlet, about two entrances apart from the main foyer.

"Max?" she tried to shout and not sound hysterical, merely loud.

She stumbled upon some kind of alley; more like a dumping ground. It was fenced in, so no one could get in or out without using the gate to her right. There were about a dozen cardboard boxes littering the cement; the rest of the trash piled high in a dumpster. It was dark and fine flakes were spinning from the sky again.

"Max…?" Mary repeated herself even though she was pretty sure he wasn't here.

But, that was when she heard it. The sound of an injured animal; a sick, heaving moan that ripped her insides apart. Nearly as quickly as she started looking for the creature, she spotted no animal at all – but Max himself, his back against the brick wall, knees pulled to his chest. There was no doubt about it; he was crying – a full-blown sob.

Mary was so glad to see him that she managed to brush aside the fact that he was bawling at first.

"Max…!" she breathed, no worry and all relief. "What are you doing out here, buddy?"

She allowed the door to clunk shut behind her, hoping it didn't have an automatic lock, and knelt to pull him to his feet, which wasn't very easy in the dusk. He allowed the gesture, but he was shaking all over, shoulders sagging as he hung his head in shame.

Mary could only make out his silhouette through the gloom, but it was nothing short of devastated. Once all the sights and sounds registered as misery, she got straight to work.

"What's the matter?" she whispered, rubbing up and down his arms in hopes that he would quiet. "You shouldn't be out here by yourself…"

Initially, she thought he was going to adopt his usual mum attitude, and she was going to have to explain that this was one of those times he'd have to talk. But, he was quicker than that and attempted to evade without being asked.

"It's nothing…"

"Max…" Mary sighed exasperatedly. "I've got eyes, man. What's going on?"

He shook his head a few times, unable to articulate for another moment or two.

"I was hiding…" he blubbered, running a trembling hand under his leaking nose.

"Why?" Mary pressed immediately. "You don't even have your coat on, pal. It's cold…"

She realized then how silly this was to be standing in the disgusting junkyard in the middle of winter. Without further ado, she hoisted Max under his arms and lifted him, clingy and freezing, into her grasp. He sprawled his arms over her back, pressing them cheek-to-cheek. His flesh was frosty. How long had he been out here?

"Come on…" she cajoled him. "Let's get inside where it's warm. We don't need you sick too," she sounded like a mother then.

Max nodded his agreement and stayed silent while she maneuvered the door back open, trying not to drop him in the process. The harsh lights of the red-carpeted hallway nearly blinded her when they got back inside and the door swung shut with a thud. Now that she could see her nephew a bit better though, she could tell that he was shivering. His cheeks were red and blotchy, and he was still crying.

"First things first here…" Mary went on in a businesslike voice. "Are you hurt?"

He shook his head.

"Do you feel sick?"

He shook his head again.

"Anybody call you names?"

A third time, knocking into her temple on this round.

"Are you sad?"

Nothing. Crickets. He didn't move a millimeter, aside from the quivering he was doing from the cold. Mary rubbed his back, slowly and rhythmically, nudging him along.

"Max?"

There was a certain no-holds-barred tone to her timbre that forced him to answer, "Kind of."

"Kind of?" Mary prodded, hitching him once so he didn't slip in her grasp. She stroked his soft, sandy colored hair, "About Jinx?"

"Kind of," he repeated.

"Well, I am afraid, my friend…" Mary played along, unwinding him from the hold and setting him on a convenient bench nearby. "…That you are going to have to do better than that."

She was mock-serious with her allegations, wanting him to loosen up even marginally. Though she wouldn't admit it, the way he'd run off and been crying all by himself really frightened her. It was so unlike him; the last thing he wanted to do was cause trouble.

Seeing him seated in front of her, pinching his little fingers under the gaps in his glasses to stop the tears, he could not have looked more pitiful. For as much as Mary loved the girls, nobody had done a very good job of taming their high spirits long enough so that they would pay attention to Max. They were too busy reveling in how confident and undeterred they were. But, here was the result on the other side of the spectrum, and it was heartbreaking.

"Max…" she whispered, crouching and rubbing his knee. "Talk to me, bud. You don't have to hide."

Ah, the irony.

He shuddered a few more times to try and keep it together, "I just didn't want to bother anybody!"

Seven words was a start. They had to begin at the beginning.

"You're not bothering _me_," Mary said with as much conviction as she could muster for being so tired. "I really want to know why you're so upset."

He sniffled and snorted, wrinkling his nose unfashionably as he got some clarity. He blinked a few times, gasping for air, before he could finally speak again.

"I just got scared; I wasn't really sure what to do…" he revealed, to Mary's bewilderment. "I didn't know if I should tell anybody."

"What were you scared of, bud?" Mary whispered, furrowing her brow.

Now that he'd gotten started, he made no effort to stop. It was the most she'd heard out of his mouth in ages. Some of it, on some level, had to be invigorating – to finally let it all go.

"The people by the book…"

"The guestbook?" Mary interrupted briefly.

A nod, "These people, they were saying things. They were saying that Jinx got dead because she drinked a lot…"

The number of tense-reversals in there was overwhelming, but Mary just nodded without speaking and allowed him to press on.

"They said that's what happens when people drink the drinks that aren't good for them…"

It was a little muddled, but Mary thought she was with him so far, and persisted in caressing his leg so he wouldn't quit.

A good thing too, because the bomb finally dropped, "What if that happens to _my_ mom?"

Mary really tried to think before she refuted this completely. Max was obviously distressed; his eyes had popped at the mere notion, and he was still blubbering. The shivering hadn't even subsided from having been out in the snow.

"Well…" she began mildly. "Why would you think it might happen to your mom?"

Sometimes simply asking was best, and Max gave her a very logical answer.

"Because she told me that before Robyn was born, she used to drink the stuff that Jinx drank, and that it made her sick, and that she had to spend a lot of time getting better…" he prattled without even stopping to take a breath. "And, Jinx stopped drinking, but so did my mom, and Jinx still died, and I don't…"

It was no use. He had plummeted hard, fast, and ugly right down into a hole. The cries got loud and messy – almost wailing. He hadn't been kidding. He _was_ scared.

"I don't _want_ my mom to die!"

Unlike Marshall, who would've known simply disagreeing with such a cry for help would be of no assistance, that was exactly what Mary did. Max was far too distressed and putting a knife right through her soul. She had to say whatever came to mind in order to pull him back to earth.

"Max, my man…" the hand that had been glued to his knee moved to his shoulder. She almost cringed at how sunny she sounded, but drove on. "Your mom isn't going to die. Dude, she is _a lot_ younger than Jinx. She's got plenty of time left."

But, the cringing didn't go away with the first dose of pep from his typically-sour aunt. She knew how she would've reacted to such a cliché at Max's age; she wouldn't have accepted one bit of it. There were no crystal balls or magic wands here, and she was about to be reminded of that fact.

"How do you know?" he moaned tragically. "You didn't know about Jinx…"

Mary conceded, "That's true. We didn't," it was much too soon after the event for her to be expected to discuss this naturally, but she buried the hurt. "Max, listen to me…"

He was a good listener. Probably the best in his kindergarten class, since he was so blasted quiet. And when given the command, he managed to stem the tears a little, but they were still clouding his little round glasses.

"I can't honestly promise you anything on this…" Mary said truthfully, reminding herself each step that she would've wanted the same thing. "I don't know for sure what's coming down the pike. But, trust me when I say it really is not likely your mom's going anywhere anytime soon."

With a monstrous gulp, Max nodded, although Mary knew him well enough to decipher that they were not completely out of the woods. He would not have gone off alone to pour out his woes if he weren't really concerned. He was six. How did anybody expect him to know the ins and outs of life and death?

"What those people said about Jinx isn't wrong," she decided some more of the unvarnished variety couldn't hurt, so long as she used it to aide. "She did drink for a long time – I'm talking years and years, Max – and it ended up hurting her in the end." He looked fearful for another moment until she finished, "Your mom drank the same way for maybe two or three months. I'm sure that doesn't make sense to you, but it should help her out in the long run."

The longer she spoke, the more Mary realized that this little freak-out of her nephew's was not as unprecedented as she made it out to be. Like an old roll of film, she recalled Max startling when Norah had brought the details of Jinx's death to their attention that first day. He was a smart kid; he'd picked up on the similarities from the start.

She prodded when he didn't speak up, "You feel any better?" she ventured a guess. "I don't want you worrying about stuff like this. It isn't your job."

She'd said the exact same thing to Norah far too many times. She knew because she'd had that job at just this age. It wasn't fun.

Fortunately, Max sniffled and accepted for now, leaving Brandi aside, "I miss Jinx," he stated baldly, still trying to squeeze his fingers under his spectacles to catch the stray tears.

With the most maternal side she possessed, Mary smiled softly at the uncomplicated nature of his statement. Nobody had said it in so few words, and it caused her to take pity on this sweet little boy. She removed his glasses with one hand, sliding them over his ears and into her palm. With a gentle index finger, she wiped slowly under each of his lids so he was no longer leaking.

"I miss her too," Mary admitted, somehow finding it easier knowing she was just a blurry figure to Max now.

Nevertheless, he blinked shyly at her without his frames; eyes mammoth and the clearest, crystal blue she'd ever seen – bluer even than Alice's. They were so innocent looking; so naive. It took her back to his days as a baby, when he'd been so attached to her.

"Mary…" he interjected cautiously, not quite over his spell. "Just…_say_ something happened to my mom, like you and Jinx. I mean, I wouldn't…"

Mary wasn't sure where that scenario was going, and she didn't care. Glasses-free now, she leaned forward, still perched on her knees, and laid a tender, fluttering kiss on his cheek. For a split second, she thought he might've smiled.

"You would still have me, moppet," she whispered kindly. "You'd still have me."

XXX

**A/N: Raise your hand if you read my Sam fics. Raise your hand if you remember Jesse. Well, I do (I did write him, after all.) And I admit to worrying that Max is a little too much like Jesse. I worked to be very conscientious in not making them too similar, but I fear it still happened. Jesse was supposed to be a follower and insecure, but very affectionate and outgoing if he was with people he trusted. Max is so introverted he doesn't quite know who he is yet; he is unsure of his identity and his place with so many girls in the mix. Trust or not, he's still not sure how to express himself, no matter who the recipient is.**

**Having said all that, however, I hope he and Mary's words are well-written. The pair of them were one of my favorite match-ups from 'By Thanksgiving' but I think I almost prefer their relationship from when Max was two; I feel like I portrayed it better. But, hopefully this isn't terrible. As someone who is niece-and-nephew-less, I wish I could be that aunt kids go to when they can't talk to their parents! ;) **


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I'm glad you all enjoyed Max!**

XXX

Max wasn't a fan of letting Brandi in on his little meltdown and Mary, hailed for her ability to keep secrets, decided to abide by his request. It made her somewhat uncomfortable though, and she knew she'd have to find a way to confide in Brandi at some point. Max would thank her later, and Brandi needed to know she had a son living in fear. There was no helping him if it stayed in the vault.

The snow had picked up by the time Mary and Marshall arrived at home. Mary felt like she was dragging herself through the door; all her limbs ached, and her endurance had long since died. Not to mention, having to plod through memories of a mother who had not even been gone a week really took it out of her. She was fatigued, hungry, and depressed.

Joanna's face was a friendly one from where she sat thumbing through a magazine on their couch at almost straight up eight o'clock. She raised her eyes, and Mary could tell by their mercy that her weariness had begun to show.

"Hi dears…" she said in a hushed voice, setting the paper back on the coffee table. "How did it go?"

"Oh…" Marshall opted to respond, slowly removing his coat along with his wife. "About as well as can be expected, I would imagine. People were exceptionally benign," he added with a twist. "That is always lovely to hear when one is down."

Mary didn't see how she could possibly contribute to that spiel, and went for silence, earning a quick hug and peck on the cheek from Joanna when she wandered into the living room. The other woman had stood, scrutinizing her with an eagle eye that only mothers possessed. Mary hoped she wouldn't forget that look.

"I was sorry I couldn't attend, honey…" she apologized up-front, but Mary was quick in shooting it down.

"No, come on…" she interjected. "We needed you here; I don't know what we would've done if you couldn't step in."

"You flatter me," Joanna gave a mock-bow and ended up with a josh. "You would've enlisted Mark, but the boy can't handle the sick children," she rolled her eyes and waved an irritable hand. "He almost hurled himself when Norah had that flu…"

"When she was three," Mary recalled with a smile. "I remember."

"Anyway, I was happy to help," Joanna concluded once Marshall joined them.

Since the pleasantries were out of the way, Mary knew the next order of business could take place. Although the thought made her all the more exhausted, she knew she needed to keep plugging along. Mothers didn't get a break. There had been a time in her life she would've relished the idea that it was all-but down in her contract not to stop until she keeled over.

"How's Alice?" she asked, rubbing the back of her neck, which was stiff from standing all night. "Is she asleep?" peering around Joanna's form to look.

"She might still be up…" Joanna reported, glancing over her shoulder with the suggestion. "I think the worst is over; I let her try some juice about fifteen minutes ago and she's kept it down so far."

"Did she keep throwing up even after we left?" Marshall wanted to know, and Mary caught the small hint of agony in his tone. He hadn't wanted to be away from his ill little girl, but he was a trooper. Even Marshall couldn't be in two places at once. "That couldn't have been all, not if it's what Mary had…"

"She did go a few more rounds," Joanna sighed. "Bless her heart. She's a good girl; it made her so tired. She missed her daddy…" a benevolent smile the man's direction, but Mary suddenly felt the need to cover.

"Was she asking for him the whole time?" she inquired. "I'm sorry if she…"

"Please," Joanna scoffed, not allowing Mary to finish. "I was a principal for thirty years, honey. I've gotten way worse than a sick child crying for daddy."

In other words, she was hardly offended, and Mary suddenly couldn't understand why she thought she would be. This was a woman who was perfectly willing to watch the child of her former daughter-in-law and her new husband. How could fault come into play when you were willing to deal with that?

"I think I should go check on her," Marshall was resolute in this quest. "You should feel free to hit the road, Joanna…"

"Absolutely," Mary nodded her agreement.

"We cannot thank-you enough for quite literally coming to the rescue," Marshall finished his own sentence, shaking hands for what was hopefully the last time that evening.

Joanna asserted yet another time that she thought watching Alice was the least she could do, before Marshall departed, practically running back to the bedroom to get to his daughter. In the back of her mind, Mary wondered how he even had the strength to lift his legs to go any faster. She was beat – like someone had smacked her with a baseball bat. Her lack of field experience these days probably didn't help.

Evidently, Joanna wasn't completely finished with their discussion. With Marshall gone, she lowered her voice, as though she was about to disclose something she hadn't wanted him to hear.

"Mary did tonight really go all right?" she wondered stealthily. "It can be so tiresome to have to make nice with so many people…"

Mary actually chuckled weakly at how well Joanna knew her and shrugged, "Yeah," she reiterated. "It was fine."

"I remember when Mark's father died; I just thought all that banter I had to make with folks I hardly knew was pointless…" she scowled at the thought. "And he hated it," as an afterthought.

The mention of Mark brought a different, out-of-left-field question to Mary's lips. She wasn't sure what made her ask, but she was spilling over before she could stop herself.

"How old was Mark when his dad died?"

She supposed she should've called him, 'your husband' in front of Joanna, but it didn't seem as though the grandmother picked up on it. Her eyes cascaded skyward in a motion of towing an old reminiscence to the front of her mind.

"Oh lord…" she breathed. "It's been such a long time. I guess he was about twenty-five or so. Pretty young."

Mary nodded, trying to picture the Mark she'd known as a reckless freelancer when she'd only been seventeen. She'd never really asked Mark about his dad; he'd brought him up shortly after James had gone, but that was it. It dawned on her that there might be a reason he was private about it.

"I was just curious," Mary said softly. "Mark doesn't talk about him much. I'm trying to figure out if it's for the same reasons I don't want to talk about Jinx," she ended with somewhat of a cruel laugh, some kind of intuition in her veins knowing Joanna wasn't going to press the issue.

As it was, she copied Mary's movements and bobbed her head, a sympathetic smile playing around her mouth. Her hazel eyes were light and sensitive in their understanding.

"It'll get easier, honey…" she promised, although Mary didn't know how smart that was. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now…" she rubbed her arm once while she reached for her purse on the couch. "But, it will. Your mother was just crazy about you," a fondly chortle to accompany the pronouncement. "That's not something you forget."

Yes, Mary thought sadly. That was one thing everybody had been sure of. Jinx loved Mary. Jinx loved Brandi, and Jinx loved the kids more than all the stars in the sky. It was funny how everyone thought _that_ was the kind of reassurance you needed when someone passed away. When in fact, Mary needed someone to say so confidently that it was obvious the daughter had loved her mother. No question, no doubt, no qualms.

"Thanks again for staying tonight," was Mary's response to the kindly grin on Joanna's face. "I'll see you soon."

Without another word, Joanna commenced in her exit. Mary found herself sticking around, stationed in the living room all by herself for no apparent reason. She knew it was about time she get to Alice and her needs, especially after having been gone all night. But, the despair was weighing a little heavy now, and it was all she could do to put one foot in front of the other.

But, one foot in front of the other she did, and they carried her the twenty feet to Norah's and Alice's bedroom. Marshall – or Joanna – had flicked on their old lamp with the bears printed on the shade, bathing the space in a cozy, snug-feeling orb of mild sunshine.

Mary didn't go in right away, instead choosing to lean in the doorframe and watch the father with his one and only daughter. Marshall had pulled Alice out of her bed, and it looked as though Joanna had left her on the bottom bunk, which was typically Norah's. He was sitting with his head bent awkwardly to avoid hitting it on the loft above; Alice curled in a little ball in his lap. He was rubbing her back gently, her head cradled against his chest.

"Daddy, I throwed up lots…" she murmured miserably, her eyes half closed. "My belly hurts."

"I know, sugar," he pacified the report in good time, kissing her beautiful brown waves. "I'm so sorry mommy and I couldn't stay with you, but we're here now…"

"I didn't get to say bye-bye to Jinx…" Alice shuddered, trying not to cry. Even she was smart enough to know it would make everything worse. "She'll be mad at me…"

Pain actually shot through Mary's heart hearing that, hearing Alice so perplexed about what the visitation actually meant. The best way for her and Marshall to explain it was to say it was a chance to say goodbye, although carefully detailing there would be no living Jinx to speak to. But, this was proof she didn't quite get it.

"Oh, no…" Marshall breathed to reassure her. "It's okay, Alice. You'll have another chance on Monday," he swore. "Jinx wouldn't want you to come when you feel crummy."

Alice burrowed still further next to Marshall, inching her head against him. Mary wondered if she had chills, and if that was why she nestled so closely. It was equally possible she had simply yearned for such comfort when they'd been gone, and was soaking it in now.

"I wanted Jinx to come take care of me…" she accounted dejectedly, furthering Mary's guilt from where she watched. "She would dance and sing me songs when came…" she reminded her father. "Why did she have to go? I want to see her dance…"

This made Alice cry for real, and Mary thought for sure she was going to do the same. She'd known her daughter had probably had a tough night, but she hadn't expected this. Until this moment, she had forgotten the kind of show Jinx used to put on for the girls when they were sick. She regaled them with all sorts of corny show tunes, making up dance steps as she went along. It was the same thing she'd used to do for Mary and Brandi when they were young.

"Alice…" Marshall sighed upon hearing this, lifting her up a little higher in hopes of hearing better. "Try to think about how Jinx did all those wonderful things because she loved you, even if she can't now…" he suggested, caressing her back a little harder. "Nothing will ever take that away, gorgeous."

At that moment, Mary must've leaned a bit more roughly on the doorframe, because it creaked. She started and straightened, but Marshall's eyes flickered upward and he saw her eavesdropping. Instead of looking disheartened, he beckoned with his fingers over Alice's back, indicating for her to come in. Mary was mystified, wondering what sort of assistance she could possibly offer. Marshall – and Jinx, it seemed – was who Alice needed.

Nonetheless, she had nothing better to do, and so she ventured forth while Marshall worked to get Alice to unearth her head.

"Hey, Big Al…" he crooned in a falsely bright voice. "Someone's here to see you…" he dangled invitingly.

Blinking and shaking hair as well as tears out of her face, Alice looked upon her mother, giving her what she hoped was a warm and maternal smile. She sat on the edge of the bed, Alice wiggling further out of Marshall's grip to stare as though she'd never seen anything like Mary in her life.

"Hi Little Bit…" Mary whispered, altering Marshall's most frequently used nickname. "I missed you tonight."

On instinct, she extended her hand and brushed the stray hairs from Alice's face, feeling her forehead in the process. It was definitely warm, heating Mary's flesh as she turned her palm back to front, getting her turn at playing doctor.

"You missed me?" Alice seemed as surprised as she was able in her delirium. "Even though daddy says you miss Jinx too?"

Mary flashed Marshall the briefest of looks at this disclosure, "You too," she reaffirmed. "Lots and lots of people were asking about you."

The faintest margin of interest in Alice's stunning pale blue eyes, "Really?"

"Would I lie?" Mary joked, wondering if she was up for a little teasing. "Stan and Lia especially. They said there is _no way_ they are going back to Washington until they get to see you," she informed her daughter. "So, we've got them trapped until you're better," she gave a devious, sneaky grin.

Unfortunately, Alice only latched onto one part of this statement, filling with wetness, "I didn't get to see Stan and Lia? Did Norah?"

Mary bit on her lip at how disappointed she sounded, particularly at the thought that her big sister had gained something she hadn't. Upon closer inspection, Mary saw that she really did look bad. Her eyes were shiny and so was her skin; Joanna had dressed her in her flannel pajamas printed with the yellow flowers. They were damp around the edges, like she might be sweating. Had Mary looked like this only a few days ago?

"You'll get your chance," Mary swore. "I'll tie them up so they don't ditch us."

Alice's mood wasn't reasonably up to snuff for her condition, and she pouted further, not wholly convinced this visit with Stan and Lia would come to pass. Instead, she went for something a little more impressive; to show her mother and father just what they'd missed by being gone all night.

"Did daddy tell you I throwed up?" she asked gloomily, rubbing a droopy eye with her fist.

"I kind of figured," Mary conceded, unable to help herself from smoothing Alice's hair over and over again. "I had to contend with this business last week. I know it stinks," she granted her daughter that.

"I feel real bad…" Alice reinforced with an untimely sniffle, making her nose drip onto her pajamas. "I don't want to do it anymore."

Mary wasn't sure whether she was talking about puking or not, but could glean as much from the way the tears persisted in rolling down her little round cheeks. Swiftly, she turned around and snatched a handful of tissues from a box under the bedside table.

"I think you're probably done with the barfing, Alice…" Mary assured her, holding a Kleenex to her nose. "Blow, my love; you'll get all clogged up."

Fortunately, she did as told – and loudly – to which Mary leaned and tossed the remains in the garbage by the door. This left Marshall in charge of detailing the rest of the night. He was good with details, rules, and regulations.

"Mommy and I are going to go have some dinner, all right sugar?" he proposed tenderly. "You stay in here and rest," he instructed. "If you feel like you're going to get sick again, all you have to do is yell really loud," schooling, as though it were all so simple. "One of us will come, but try to get to the bathroom, okay?"

It was a lot all at once but Alice, even in her frenzy, seemed to grasp the general gist, and nodded. Therefore, Marshall detached her iron-grip from his neck and adjusted her back inside the bottom bunk, arranging the blanket and sheets up to her collar. She snuggled in gratefully, eyes fluttering shut almost at once, but no one was getting away without a fight.

"Daddy, you come back and say night-night?" she slurred sleepily, sinking her head further into her pillows.

"My night is incomplete without it," Marshall claimed easily. "I promise not to be gone long. Scout's honor," he held up the symbol for her to see when her lids flickered to life briefly.

"Okay…" Alice yawned widely, and Marshall saw this as a good opportunity to escape and prepare some food, which shouldn't have been a problem. People had been bringing them wrapped dishes all week – from Delia to Norah's teacher at school.

Mary, a looming figure over her daughter now, didn't quite have it in her to step away just yet. Weakness aside, there was some magnetic pull drawing her inward toward Alice, begging her to stick around. It wasn't such a mystery in some ways. She longed to be the mother she no longer had.

Kneeling on the carpet, she watched momentarily as Alice breathed steadily in and out, eyelashes perfect and relaxed against her cheeks. For a child so ailing, she looked far more serene than Mary felt.

"Alice?" she murmured, wondering if it was worth stirring such a peaceful form.

"Mmm?" she peered at Mary through slits.

"I sure wish you could've been there tonight," she desperately did not want her to feel left out. "It would've made me feel a lot better."

She was lucky Alice had seemed to understand the sorrow that went along with losing someone you loved, and she identified with Mary's grief.

"I was good for Joanna?" her little girl drawled unexpectedly.

Mary cocked her head, placing a hand on Alice's chest, "I'm sure you were good for Joanna," she assumed. "Is that what you mean?" she couldn't be sure.

The gorgeous brunette nodded slowly and forced her lips apart again, on a throat that was dry and bruised; with a body that was stripped to nuts and bolts.

"I was trying to be good while you were gone…"

And the next earth-shattering words proved that Mary was more of a master at hiding than she'd even intended to be.

"…So I could be brave…" Alice concluded with a tiny sigh. "Like you."

XXX

**A/N: Little bit of Mary/Alice time to wrap up this chapter!**


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: I am glad everyone liked Mary and Alice together. I didn't want it to come on too strongly or too clichéd and hopefully I achieved that.**

XXX

Saturday brought a welcome relief from the almost tangible turmoil that had been the week prior. At her own request, Mary stayed home with Alice through the morning while Marshall went into the office for a few hours. He brought Norah home at noon, by which time the sun had started to come out, further melting the snowdrifts from Wednesday and the dusting left in the night.

Alice had-had a rocky night just trying to sleep, but fortunately had only vomited one more time before ceasing completely. Mary was pretty sure they'd seen the last of it, and just had to work on getting her well enough to attend the funeral on Monday. Surprisingly, she wasn't worried. Kids bounced back far faster than adults.

After lunch, Norah agreed to a game of Chutes and Ladders with her sister while Mary sat on the couch and surveyed a few WITSEC documents Marshall had brought home. He'd gone out again after eating, and Mary wasn't sure why, but something was telling her she'd had some sort of memory lapse about today.

"That's a chute! That's a chute!" Alice crowed from the floor below her, taunting her elder sister. "You have to go down!"

"Why do you tell me like I don't know?" Norah asked as she moved her little green man down the slide. "I learned to play before you did."

"But I'm _better_…" Alice insisted pompously. "I guess daddy didn't teach you as good as he taught me."

"Marshall didn't teach me," Norah shrugged this off and handed Alice the dice. "Mom did."

"Mommy…" Alice rotated around on her butt upon hearing this, giving Mary an incredulous look from where she was buried behind the papers on her knees. "You should tell Norah how to play again."

"Why's that?" Mary murmured absentmindedly, not raising her eyes. She hadn't been paying much attention.

"Cause Norah's looooooosing…" her youngest declared, sounding so much like Robyn it was frightening.

At this, Mary decided she might as well look in, flipping her page downward to find a cocky, boasting Alice in her pajamas. Norah sat across from her in her jeans and blue flannel button-up; the one she'd worn so much it was wearing holes in the elbows. She looked exasperated, but was keeping her mouth shut, and Mary had to wonder why.

"You gonna take that smack, Bug?" she asked skeptically.

"I'm saving it up," Norah replied smartly. "Until she's feeling better, and _then_ I'll give her a piece of my mind."

"Clever girl…" Mary mused, and she was about to get back to her paper before she decided it was about time she check in on Alice again.

She'd sprung to life a lot quicker than Mary would've anticipated, considering she'd been losing her lunch not even twenty-four hours before. But, it was entirely possible she didn't have quite the same virus her mother had contracted, considering everything else that went through that preschool. Nonetheless, she reached around her work and slipped her fingers onto her daughter's forehead. She tried to squirm away, but Mary used her other hand to grab her shoulder, making sure she couldn't move.

"You're still pretty heated, Little Bit…" she discovered while Alice sulked. "I want you to take a nap in awhile when dad gets back."

Predictably, she was indignant as Mary removed her hand, "I don't need a nap!" she claimed boldly. "And daddy said he'd play Sorry with me when he came home!" she reminded her mother, sounding tearful that she might miss out.

"You don't even know all your numbers…" Norah guffawed arrogantly. "How are you supposed to play Sorry? You mix up two and five."

"No I don't!" Alice moaned, her face flushing with the exertion of being angry. "The two is the one that looks like an S!"

Her sister was unkind, "Wrong," she spat harshly. "That's five. And it's a blocky S anyway."

"No, it isn't…" the little one wasn't about to be deterred, abandoning her turn and shoving the dice out of the way. She hated when Norah got the better of her, "Five is this many…" she held up all her fingers. "It's how old I'll be…"

"Maybe so," Norah shrugged. "But, you still don't know if you have to look at them."

Alice had-had enough and crossed her arms over her chest, tugging on Mary's pant leg hanging over the edge of the couch.

"Mommy, make her stop…" she whined. "She's being mean."

Mary was about to open her mouth, to tell Norah to lay off just so she could have some peace and quiet, but her daughter beat her to the punch.

"Mom, I'm kidding," the older insisted, which was exactly what Mary had used to say to Jinx when Brandi had complained. "I'm not serious. I know she's not a dope. She's beating me at this stupid game…" she used the board to illustrate, and Mary had to admire the way she so skillfully backed off. She even had a visual aide.

"She's right, Alice…" Mary pretended to side with the smaller of the two, to make her feel like she'd come out on top when she was sick. "You're going to best her pretty soon."

Luckily, this did satisfy Alice and she held off on the tears and the tragedy in favor of finishing the game. Briefly, Mary watched her roll a six and carefully count each dot meticulously so Norah would not make fun of her again. She also attempted to use this to her advantage, and the wily smile on her face meant she couldn't bluff.

"I got a seven," she fibbed, almost giggling with the effort of trying to fool Norah.

"Not only can't you lie…" Norah sighed casually. "You cheat too. You know that's what that is, right?"

Fortunately, Alice didn't take this insult to heart and moved her blue man six places, knowing her sister was always going to be bigger, smarter, and one step ahead. In the rear of her mind, Mary wondered how that must feel – to know you were never going to catch up. She wouldn't have dealt well with being a second child.

"Alice, if you take a nap like mom says…" Norah began while she took her turn. "I'll play another game with you after dinner. Maybe not Sorry, but…"

She shrugged, trying to seem like it was not a big deal, but Mary had a shrewd idea why the offer was being made. She suspected it was both for personal gain as well as a display of her responsible streak she'd developed over the years. If Alice took a nap, she'd get Mary and Marshall to herself for awhile. In turn, if she was the one to play the game, it wouldn't bother Mary. She forever worried about bothering Mary.

"You don't have to do that, Bug…" Mary said upon realizing this, but without identifying. "Marshall will play with her all night, no matter what I say…"

"I want you _both_ to play!" Alice interrupted enthusiastically, bouncing up on the carpet. "Me and daddy can be on a team, and mommy and Norah can be on a team…"

"You dummy," the blonder cut-in, not holding back on the name-calling this time. "Mom hates board games."

Alice gasped, brushing the moniker aside, "She does not! Do you, mommy?"

Mary tried to figure out a way to work this so that she wouldn't come off the pastime-detesting individual she was at heart. Board games had never been a favorite of hers. They were dull and monotonous and she'd managed to escape such things with Norah, but Alice had developed an affinity.

To her surprise, however, she was spared the task of coming up with a diplomatic response when the front door opened. Marshall had returned, carrying two gift bags – one enormous and pink, the other petite and red – and bellowing at the top of his voice.

"Good afternoon, my lovelies!" he sang, careful to sweep the door shut with his foot so the cold air didn't waft through the house. "And a happy Valentine's Day to you!"

She knew she'd forgotten something.

Alice, for one, did not seem deterred by having no clue what day it was. She whipped around from her activity to see Marshall and his bounty, and put on a face of such admiration you could practically bottle it. Mary could almost feel the bliss radiating through the room; easier to do when it had been so sparse for so long.

"Valentine's Day was yesterday!" Alice bleated, scrambling to her feet.

"Your party at school was yesterday," Norah chimed in with the voice of reason. "But, today's the fourteenth. The fourteenth is Valentine's Day."

But, it was clear Alice couldn't have cared less. She was already across the room and mobbing her father while he took off his coat and scarf. She yanked on the hem of his shirt, crawling all over his torso in an attempt to snatch the goodies.

"Daddy, did you get me a _gift_?" she solicited coyly, very nearly batting her eyelashes. "Just for _me_?"

Norah shot Mary a look at what a ham she was becoming, and Mary was hard-pressed not to offer one in return. Just the same, she was a little busy feeling embarrassed about not having realized the date. She didn't have anything for Marshall, and there was no telling how he'd spoiled her this holiday with such a loss.

Meanwhile, Alice was gallivanting around behind the taller figure while he strolled to the kitchen, holding the bags up high.

"I don't know what you're talking about…" he teased horrifically. "These are for some _other_ little girls. Little girls who eat their peas and drink all their milk…" he dangled the sacks shamelessly while Alice bounced around on her tiptoes.

"I ate my peas!" she declared joyously. "I did! You saw!"

"Yeah, _she's_ sick…" Norah muttered under her breath while the routine continued in the kitchen. "Maybe in the head."

"Norah…" Mary growled warningly, knowing it was in her job description not to let her talk like that behind Alice's back.

That was all she let go, however, knowing what a help Norah was being today. As it was, her daughter shrugged off the caution, eyes journeying to the spectacle beyond.

"What do you want to bet that giant one is for her?" she speculated. "And that midget one is for me?"

Mary knew Norah well enough to understand she didn't think Marshall was being cheap; it was her way of joking, much like her mother. Due to this, she was careful in choosing her next words.

"I'm supposed to give you some spiel right now about how good things come in small packages," she deliberated, sitting up and replacing her documents to the coffee table near the game board. "Bigger doesn't mean better and all that jazz."

"I've gotten that speech before," Norah informed her, shifting to cross-legged on the carpet. "When you told Robyn and me about when we were born, and why she was six pounds bigger or whatever…"

"Four," Mary actually laughed. "I would think you'd consider it a cliché by now."

"Who says I don't?"

Mary lived on this girl's sly smile some days. She was quick without being arrogant – unless she was talking to Alice – and she still had a compassionate stripe that went unrivaled by most. She never would've imagined she'd have a child so like herself, with that little bit of mellowness thrown in for good measure.

Marshall was on his way back to the living room, still prancing around and driving Alice to the brink. She flexed her fingers in the air, like she could will the sack to slip down and drop in her lap.

"Give in, doofus…" Mary appealed. "Not fair for one who barfed her guts up all night."

"Yeah-yeah!" Alice piped up. "Be fair, daddy!" as if she knew what that meant.

Marshall gave a dramatic sigh, "Well, all right…" mock-disappointment. "I suppose handing my treasures over to you two will have to do."

Without further ado, he dropped the massive sack to Alice, who promptly giggled feverishly and allowed it to clunk to the ground when it slid through her fingers. She scuttled to the floor to retrieve it, yanking out tissue paper by the fistful.

"Here you are, champ…" Marshall bestowed Norah with hers, which was indeed the tiny red bag. "It's not usually your style, but it might be for down the road – on the off-chance you want to try dressing like a girl."

Norah flashed him a look of incredulity, wondering what this could possibly be about, and was more reserved in removing the wrappings to look for her gift. Marshall seated himself on the couch next to his wife, forcing her to tuck her legs underneath her so there was room.

"Pleasant Valentine's to you as well…" he relayed in something of a husky voice, leaning over from his spot to kiss her cheek. "No massacre, please," he added a hint of humor.

Mary wasn't laughing, and instead chewed on her lower lip, blinking fast and trying to figure out a way to tell him she had no gift. She doubted he would be upset – he _was_ Marshall, after all – but it was more the principle behind it. He'd done a lot for her in the past week, and the least she could reciprocate was a little token. He might think she'd abandoned the idea due to her usual distaste of a holiday that included Cupid and girlish-colored hearts.

"I don't really have anything for you…" she admitted softly, forcing herself to keep staring into his deep eyes. "I sort of forgot…with everything else going on…" it hadn't been her intention to make excuses.

Inevitably, Marshall waved a hand of indifference, "I do not require trinkets," he declared airily. "In any case, your gift is on a delay as well. I will hoard it when it arrives until we are 'even,' if you would prefer."

Mary couldn't resist rolling her eyes at the flowery wording, but nodded, "I don't want anything until I manage to pick something up for you," she clarified.

"I affirm that a deal," Marshall concluded.

Before Mary could muster up some of her old snark to combat his corniness, Alice had leapt from the floor waving some floppy stuffed toy, an expression of glee in her red cheeks.

"It's a bunny!" she announced excitedly. "He has hearts on him! _And_…" she burrowed back into the sack momentarily and presented a second item. "This box has candy in it!" she waggled it in display.

"_Chocolate_ candy?" Mary's ears perked up. "You better learn to share, Little Bit…"

"Daddy got it for _me_…" she proclaimed unabashedly. With a huge, jaunting gallop, she went flying in toward the couch, landing squarely in Marshall's lap, "You can have the coconut ones."

Marshall laughed at his daughter sprawled in his lap on her belly, the heart-shaped box of chocolates under her arm and the stuffed bunny dangling by her fingertips. Upon closer inspection, Mary saw that the rabbit was fuzzy and white, and he did indeed have red and pink hearts printed all over. He also had giant floppy ears, and looked very squeezable to a child of four.

"Well, you're such a nice girl…" he said with just a hint of authority in his voice. "I bet you'll let me and mommy have _just_ a few."

Alice could only snicker and snuggle deeper against Marshall, wiggling upward to be against his chest. Mary could tell she was fighting fatigue; her eyes were droopy even in her elation, and she was breathing harder than normal. A nap was definitely in order.

"What did you and Norah do while I was gone?" he queried to get off the subject of food. "A game of sorts…?"

"I'm winning…" Alice revealed just as Norah herself joined their party of three carrying her gift, which had come in a small, furry black box.

"What did you get, love?" Mary wanted to know, sidling away from Marshall and his admirer for a peek. "Marshall mentioned something about looking like a girl; I am a tad worried…"

But Norah, however unpredictably, seemed pleased with her gift, and she angled the box so Mary could have a look.

"It's a necklace…" she detailed, but Mary needed no further enlightenment.

There against the miniature raised platform was indeed a necklace; it was silver and perfectly circular, like a medallion. With more thorough scrutiny, she ascertained there was actually one medal on top of the other; the top slightly smaller than the one underneath. They were loose and separate from one another, but slid together on the chain.

"It has my initials, see?" Norah pointed. "It says N.S…"

So it did. In almost calligraphic-like penmanship, the two letters were etched neatly into the silver, gleaming black against the grey. Between the size and shape of the circle; the way the embossing looked a little worn and rusted against the disk, it reminded Mary so much of…

"_It's the medal of Mary. You wear it; you keep everyone safe."_

"It's kind of neat, isn't it mom?"

It wasn't the same. It wasn't the same at all. Her necklace had-had the Virgin Mary on it, not her initials. It had been gold instead of silver.

Still, Mary could not get away from the striking similarities in its outline and mechanics; the nature of the build was a near replica. Thinking about it must've made her vacant, because Norah pushed with her question.

"Mom?" a little louder. "Do you like it?"

Mary shook her head, but then quickly forced herself to nod, not wanting Norah to think the gesture had been for her.

"Yeah…" she stated as confidently as possible. "I do. I used to have one like it, actually."

What had made her admit that? It certainly wasn't the desire to share anything involving that necklace. She'd hoarded it like a miser throughout her youth and adulthood; had mourned it when she'd given it to James and the FBI had kept it sealed in a Ziploc bag as evidence. She'd lived by it as though it were the gospel – to keep everyone safe.

"Really?" Norah seemed surprised by the connection too. "You did?"

Mary cleared her throat, "Mine was a little different," she corrected herself. "It was the same style, though. My dad gave it to me."

The walls were beginning to break. After such a long week, she didn't have enough of her common sense about her to cover up. She was just blurting out whatever came to her mind – flat and emotionless.

And loudly, it seemed, because Marshall heard.

"You had a necklace like that one?" he cut in, scooting Alice part-way off his lap to be closer to the action. "I didn't know that…"

"Sure you did," Mary had not meant to sound accusatory, but it came out slightly callous and cold. "The gold one with the Virgin Mary."

The woman could not truthfully read Marshall's face in that moment. For a split second, she thought she saw him stricken with realization at what he'd unearthed by giving Norah such a gift. But, it was gone almost as quickly as it had come, and it washed aside to make way for something more perceptive.

Surely he had not done this on purpose. Mary knew he wanted her to open up, but still. He wouldn't.

"It's not quite the same, is it?" he took a shot impassively. "Not entirely comparable…"

Mary could not bring herself to speak, but fortunately Norah got a few words in, distracting both from the undercurrent of the conversation.

"I actually really like it, Marshall…" she told him kindly. "Thanks. It's not all sparkly and girly like the ones you see in most stores," she resisted making a face. "I'll wear it a lot."

Marshall was trying to give Norah his undivided attention, but his head was obviously still with Mary. Not to mention the fact that Alice was still clamoring for his attention, waving that colossal bunny every which way in his line of vision.

"I'm glad, beautiful…" he addressed his step-daughter. "I did my best."

Norah was content and Alice was on the mend, but Mary, boring into Marshall with her green eyes, couldn't help the rolling, sick sensation that was starting to rise in the gallows of her stomach. Every insecurity she had tried to bury since losing Jinx had just come cascading back to the forefront and it was making her feel extremely agitated all over again.

That damn necklace. She'd loved that thing; harbored it like some lost and ancient treasure. She still reached for it in the night, and was fighting the urge to do so right now. She never remembered that it was gone.

After all, she'd given it up when her ability to protect people vanished. James, bloody and dying in the dirt. And now Jinx – twelve years sober and likely certain her eldest daughter had cherished an old emblem from a past life, more than the people in her present one.

And to think, Mary reflected with foreboding. Today had almost felt normal again.

XXX

**A/N: Oh, a small bump in the road for Mary! What will we do with her? ;) **


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Thank-you kindly for the reviews!**

XXX

Mary and Brandi spent most of Sunday down at Jinx's studio cleaning out her office. Mary was nowhere near ready to start doing the same to her apartment, but she knew they had to begin somewhere. It was just the two of them and Robyn; Alice, still under-the-weather, was home with Marshall and Norah. Max, presumably, was with Peter, as none of them had-had any interest in going down.

Mary couldn't believe the sorts of things her mother had stowed away just in her desk drawers alone. Much of it was useless; old tax forms, insurance papers, whatever else she'd needed to keep the business up and running. There were stacks upon stacks of registration forms in the cabinets; zillions of little girls and their information printed on a piece of paper from when they'd first scheduled classes. Mary had to wonder why Jinx would keep such things, and didn't hasten to throw them out.

But, while she sifted through the drawers, she found there were a few treasures to behold amongst the mess. She found several while she was crouched on the ground behind the desk, Brandi over by the cupboards tossing sheet after sheet into a garbage sack.

"Jesus God…" Mary articulated, turning her papers right-side up. "Here's some artifacts…"

"What?" Brandi asked over her head. "You find something?"

Mary stood, blowing her hair out of her face, and slapped a pile of crayoned drawings on the desktop. Depicted were little stick figures with yellow hair; eyes too big for their faces and hands with twigs for fingers. Illustrations where the blue sky spanned only the top of the page and birds were shaped like the letter V.

"Aw…" Brandi mooned, turning around and laying her hands on the desk so she could look properly. "The kids drew those…"

"There's no telling _what_ kid," Mary reminded her. "This one was probably Norah or Robyn – since the two of them are in it and they made the hair look like some Rupunzel…" she detailed the figures in a backyard scene.

"It was Robyn," Brandi decided, pointing to something in the lower right corner. "She used to put an R with a heart on everything she made. That's it there."

Mary rolled her eyes, "Barf…" she winked just once to show she was fooling around. "I suppose that was your idea."

"Kind of," Brandi shrugged, a smile playing on her lips as she continued to thumb through the pictures. "When she was really little, she wanted to practice her autograph, but she couldn't write her name yet," she recalled. "So I told her that could be her signature."

"You two are a trip," Mary claimed, but Brandi could only chuckle.

"Mom would keep all these…" she said it with fondness, eyes not leaving the stack, rotating certain crumpled sheets to get a better view of the illustration on the inside. "What is this?"

Brandi held up a particularly interesting drawing, which Mary squinted at to see if she could figure out what was going on inside it. It looked to be one of the older ones; she could tell by the way the white of the paper had faded to yellow. The people were spindly and barely colored in, except for slashes through the middle and some sort of green diamond shape near the right side.

"Beats me…" Mary shook her head. "Somebody wasn't very good with a crayon yet."

At that moment, Robyn wandered into their midst. She'd been busy practicing her dance moves in the otherwise empty studio, taking advantage of the long mirror on the wall. She slipped in under Brandi's arm and the portraits caught her attention at once. To Mary's shock, she actually singled out the one they were poring over.

"Look how Norah used to draw people…" she laughed, causing Brandi to turn it all the way around so her daughter could have a better look. "You can barely tell they're playing baseball."

"They're playing baseball?" Mary squawked. "How on earth can you tell? Is this like the magic eye?" she wanted to know. "You have to have some sixth sense to be able to see it?"

"It's not that hard…" Robyn shrugged and began schooling her aunt. "See that shape is home plate…" she indicated the diamond. "And all that stuff in the middle is a fastball – those streaks," she continued. "I think that's probably Jinx over there, because the hair is darker…"

"It could be Marshall…" Mary tilted it this way and that.

"It's a girl," Robyn went on as though this were obvious. "Norah gave her eyelashes. It's her and Jinx playing baseball."

Brandi answered this with a huff, "No kidding."

Whether you could glean the shapes from the drawing remained to be seen, but Mary saw that Robyn was probably correct. Why would Norah give Jinx a drawing that didn't include at least one of them? There was no reason for her to include Marshall or any other dark-haired individual. She'd planned to toss them all out, but it was Brandi who stopped her.

"You should hang onto those, Mare…" she suggested, turning back to the cabinets. "I mean, mom did. She must've though they were special."

Mary wasn't much for a lot of silly sentiment in this form, but it was the last phrase of Brandi's that made her take pause. Jinx had seemed to believe they were worth keeping, and so Mary heeded the advice and walked them to her tote by the door. She slipped them underneath so they wouldn't blow away, Norah's toddler-depiction squarely on top.

"It is really bizarre having the studio so empty," Robyn voiced once Mary returned to the desk. "What's going to happen to it?"

"What do you mean?" Brandi inquired, her butt sticking out of a lower cupboard.

"Jinx was the only teacher," Robyn reminded them. "Will you guys get somebody else, or will it just close?"

To Mary's astonishment, she realized she had not even considered such a thing. All the parents of the girls had been so accommodating; nobody had yet asked what would become of the classes. There would be refunds to field if they shut the space down. If they didn't, they would have to find someone else to teach as well as pay the rent.

"I hadn't thought about it…" Brandi muttered absently, clearly not taking it to heart as Mary was. "We'll figure it out."

"But, how am I supposed to learn all the new steps to that one Jinx was teaching me?" Robyn wanted to know, sounding a little more indignant now, hand on her hip. "I'm _not_ stopping. She would've wanted me to perform it."

She said it with such conviction, and there was nothing untrue about it. Jinx, dead or alive, would've been scandalized if Robyn just bowed out of a recital. But, Mary was at a loss for how to tell her niece to go on. She knew nothing about dancing. Brandi had some minimal moves from her own days of ballet, but Robyn had become fairly advanced as the years had gone on. She actually preferred dancing to acting anymore, and it had put a pleasant damper on her usual theatrical nature when her mouth didn't need to be open.

"I know, babe…" Mary tried to be sympathetic as she leaned her hand on the desk to face those dark green eyes. "And, you're right. But, like it or not you're probably going to have to switch things around one way or the other…" she was never anything but honest. "Either bow out or put the show on standby."

Robyn was plainly dissatisfied and slumped against the wall scowling, "This sucks."

Brandi heard that one and dug her head out, "Robyn!" she scolded, slapping the hair away where it had fallen in her face. "Don't talk like that. There isn't anything we can do about this…" she explained. "You're not the only one who's going to be inconvenienced here."

Robyn made a half-hearted attempt at sincerity, easing off the wall and pleading to Brandi with her arms outstretched. She looked remarkably the part of a ballerina today, with her hair in a spectacularly sloppy bun on top of her head and a pair of black leggings with boots.

"But, mom…" she whined, ignoring the reprimand about her language. "Jinx would be super disappointed if I just quit!" her voice inched even higher, giving way to possible tears. "I can't do that! _Someone_ has to teach me so I can perform – at least for _somebody_! Even if it's just for you and dad!"

She was getting desperate, and Mary knew she didn't need to be present for this discussion. She squatted down behind the desk once more, wrenching open the stuck bottom drawer to do another inspection.

While Brandi and Robyn argued over dance steps, she yanked out a whole stack of parchment that did not seem particularly important. She sifted through it, trying to ignore her niece's appeal, finding nothing but more forms and documents long since past their prime.

She'd been at it maybe ten minutes, making sure there was nothing of consequence. That was when her eye caught the dirty envelope stuck to the bottom of the drawer. It was a large one, faded tan and worn. Mary dumped the pile on the ground and retrieved it, having to pry it loose from where it had been smashed on the base.

Peeling the brad apart, she slipped her hand inside and found about a dozen or so pieces of paper. Thinking nothing of it, Mary flipped the first one around and promptly felt her heart fly so far up her throat she was sure she was going to choke on it.

_July 12__th__, 2009_

_Dear Ginger,_

_ I understand the letter Lauren delivered was a bit of a shock to you. I didn't mean to throw a wrench in things that way, especially after I learned what was going on with Brandi. I know you have a lot to deal with, but I wanted you to understand what had happened, and why I hadn't been in touch before now. I can't imagine what you must've thought when you found out that I had been writing to Mary…_

She threw that one aside in favor of another, dated some six months later.

_January 8__th__, 2010_

_Dear Ginger,_

_ I know it has taken me a long time to get back in touch with you. I shouldn't have dropped that bomb with the first letter and then left you hanging. I have been trying to contact you for ages, but it has never been safe for me. I always have to watch my back, and this is the first time I've had a chance to get to you._

_I was devastated when I heard through the grapevine about Mary over the summer. I was terrified that she might not pull through, and I was deathly afraid of what would become of you and Brandi without her. I feel just sick about the fact that you had to deal with her shooting by yourselves; that I couldn't be there to comfort you. But, trust me when I tell you Ginger, coming back would've made everything worse…_

Blah-blah-blah, Mary thought, barely registering. Once again, she shoved the note away, too anxious to see what were in the ones following.

_May 16__th__, 2011_

_Dear Ginger,_

_ Life has been hectic lately. I have had to lie lower than usual, but I couldn't let anymore time pass without telling you to give Brandi my sincerest warm wishes. That car dealer she found seems like a real winner, and I am so pleased she will be able to settle down. I hope the same result is in the near future for Mary…_

The faster Mary turned the pages, the more her heart began to pound. She thought she must be having some kind of stroke, and would pass out right there on the floor. Brandi and Robyn wouldn't even know it, with the desk concealing her body.

There were only about twelve or thirteen letters, stopping around the time Norah had been born ten years before. Mary had no idea why the correspondence simply ended, but that was James. He'd done the same thing to her in the notes he had penned in her early twenties. They were sporadic and infrequent; no pattern, no way of replying.

Quicker and quicker she flicked the paper, in danger of slicing her finger.

_I wish I had been able to write sooner…_

_I know you must be confused…_

_There is a lot going on right now…_

_I won't wait so long next time…_

They were all the same – disgustingly the same. He made so many excuses Mary lost track. The captivating way he oozed with compliments about his ex-wife and daughters was making her long for him, as well as despise him. _Why_ did he do this? Ten years beyond his death and he was still stirring up trouble. How could he be so enchanting and so infuriating all at once?

And Jinx. She'd never, not once, mentioned these letters existed. Had it been payback toward Mary for keeping her messages a secret? Or had she simply thought they were too upsetting for her eldest daughter? It could reasonably be either.

"I swear, I could explain to her until I'm blue in the face…" Brandi grumbled on the other side, back in the real world. "I love that she's so loyal to mom, but seriously. She needs to figure out this doesn't just effect her."

It took Mary a minute to register that Brandi was speaking – and who she was speaking about. Her voice seemed to echo; to resonate off a mountaintop somewhere very far in the distance. It was such an expedition from what she'd been pulled into, here on the floor.

"We will have to do something about the classes though, Mare…" she blathered on. "The parents are gonna start asking, and the rent will be due."

The studio. That's what she was talking about, Mary realized with her mouth half-open. And Robyn must've gone back to the main room to practice more pirouettes. That seemed about right.

"Are you listening?" Brandi finally picked up on the conspicuous silence.

Mary shook her head, grateful Brandi couldn't see that she was so out-of-it. Taking a moment to compose herself, she breathed deeply and shut her eyes. Still working to sail back to earth, she gave at least a response to Brandi, if not her undivided attention.

"Yeah," she asserted quietly. "Get the studio squared away. I heard."

It did not even occur to her – not at first – to share the letters with her sister. She was too busy making sure she did not appear any which way to the younger – like she was languishing or brooding on James and his presence, or lack thereof. She stood up, leaving the mess of paper on the floor, and rubbed her hands on her jeans. Brandi wasn't even looking at her, she soon discovered, but standing on tiptoe to reach the cabinets above her head.

"These are the last ones…" she reported, taking Mary's attention span at face value. "Whatever's in here is it. Did you get the desk cleaned out?"

"…Sort of…" Mary shrugged, a brave attempt at indifference. "It doesn't look like there's much to keep – those drawings, I guess, and a couple stray pictures that weren't framed."

"All right…" Brandi grunted, obviously finding nothing suspicious in Mary's tone. With a kick of her legs, she managed to swing open one of two upper cabinets. "Finally…"

But, Mary was in for the second surprise of the day, as she worked very diligently at keeping her nonchalance under wraps. The top cupboards housed trophies – rows and rows of trophies, adorned with red and blue ribbons, dangling and draped over the sides. Their gold shine glimmered dully in the fluorescent lights above, the bases marble white.

"What are these…?" Brandi breathed, falling back on her heels now that the door had swung open. "Are they mom's?"

Mary, who was taller, was eager for an excuse to abandon the notes and went to assist the shorter. Once there, she was able to scoop two plaques to the edge and tip them, plus a cascade of streamers, into her hands.

"This one's third place…" she read the fine lettering on the base. "New Jersey Regionals…"

She handed the second to Brandi, who narrowed her eyes at the miniscule print, "First place," her tone actually went up an octave in excitement. "Best Performance in an Ensemble…" she dictated further. "For ballet." Brandi flipped the award on its backside to see if there was anything else, "I wonder what they put on. Swan Lake or something…"

"Hell if I know," Mary griped. "What's the year on that one?"

"September of 1960," Brandi reported. "So, mom would've been…what?" she screwed up her face in concentration, and Mary was about to make a joke about how she was supposed to have the math brain. Instead, she just beat her to the punch.

"Fourteen," she calculated. "She would've just turned. Her birthday's in August like Norah's," it had become easier to remember once her daughter had been born.

"Wow…" Brandi exhaled, still marveling at the little statue, eyes cascading upward to the fleet that still remained. "Why do you think she never told us about any of these?" she wondered aloud, but Mary wasn't sure if she expected an answer. "I mean, I knew she was good, but not this good…"

Response or not, Mary was pretty sure she knew why regardless. She'd always downplayed Jinx's abilities as a dancer, even refusing to call her as such for a time – that having 'danced' did not equate it as a profession. She had to have known her little baubles wouldn't hold any merit in the eyes of her child.

"We'll have to come back for these…" Mary spoke up without elaborating on Brandi's thoughts. "We'll need a box or something."

Without another word, she swept past her sister and back to the desk, not wishing to discuss it further. Unfortunately, her abrupt shift in mood caused Brandi to furrow her brow and scrutinize her as she busied herself with all the crap on the floor.

"Something wrong?" Brandi questioned, turning away from the cabinet. "Did this set you off or something…?" she gestured at the mediocre trophy case.

Mary noted that she was about as anxious as Marshall to get her to break down and open up, but she was hardly in the mood. She was quickly gathering all of James' mail and stuffing it, helter-skelter, back in its envelope. She knew she was making more noise than was wise, and spoke loudly to counteract the shuffling.

"No…" spitting ruthlessly. "Why would a bunch of prizes upset me?" she made it sound ludicrous.

"Well, I don't know…" came Brandi's voice from above, and Mary heard her feet on the linoleum. She was going to have to pick up the pace. "I mean, you barely looked at them."

"What's to look at?" she retorted, still strident. "I'll get my chance, won't I?"

"I guess…" Brandi conceded. "What's all that on the ground?"

Busted.

Mary returned to her feet slowly, thankful she had been quick enough to conceal the letters from sight. A few were still sticking out of the top of the packet, their corners rumpled from where she'd started shoving. Brandi was waiting on the other side of the desk, her blue eyes curious and fretful. She was waiting for Mary to answer.

"Nothing."

She was such a child. She really was. Deep in her heart, she knew she could not keep this from her baby sister. She'd done it once before, and the ramifications had been horrific. They were much closer than they used to be; Brandi would be counting on her. The price she would pay later was not worth the covert actions now.

"Then why are you holding that?" she jerked her head at the envelope. "What was in there?"

To Mary's intense displeasure, she knew the truth probably wouldn't faze Brandi. She'd be surprised, perhaps, but not upset. She did not dock this secret longing for their father the way that Mary did. The eldest told herself over and over it wasn't how it looked; she needed someone older, wiser – a parent, for Christ's sake – to take care of her. That was _all_ it was.

She started with a sigh, "Squish, it's not a big deal…"

Before Mary could go on, "That's not how you look."

No, probably not. Her poker face had really worn down this week.

"It's a bunch of shit from dad…" she blurted out in lieu of holding back, suddenly wanting to get this over with as fast as possible. She flung the envelope across the table so hard it almost slid off, but Brandi caught it just in time. "Who even cares? It's nothing we don't know."

Her sister did indeed appear taken aback, but her eyes stayed with Mary even as she undid the wrapping and pulled forth what had been stuffed haphazardly within. Her lids scanned a few words; she flipped pages once or twice while Mary stood and glowered, wondering how long she could keep her emotions from spilling over.

"So, he was writing to her too…" she eventually nodded concisely, still perusing even as she said it. "Well, that probably made her feel better, at the very least."

Mary found this view irksome, "Feel better?"

Brandi's gaze flashed upward from the note she held in hand, "Well, yeah…" it was as though she were bemused Mary hadn't caught on. "I mean, it was hard for her after he only wrote to you. You know that."

Yes, Mary did know that, and there was no reason to make it seem like something they shouldn't talk about. There was no changing it and, undeniably, Jinx should've been satisfied on some morbid level that James had finally taken the time to consider her.

"Right," she answered tightly.

But, watching Brandi shuffle through the papers, Mary reflected that none of those notes dated past 2011. It was an age ago – before James had returned and subsequently died. Her mother, like Brandi, had long since gotten over the man and his abandonment. In fact, she'd as much as hated James and nearly said so to Mary herself.

"_How he was a bastard who was way more trouble than he was worth – all the misery he put you girls through. And if it had been you or Brandi his minions had chosen to go after instead of Scott, he still wouldn't be here to talk about it."_

That was why these memos were tucked neatly away, not readily accessible like the black tin in Mary's bedroom closet. They were not where Jinx could just pull them out and read them whenever it suited her fancy. They'd been buried beneath a mountain of paperwork.

"You want to take these?" Brandi asked so casually it was impossible to think she was in any way affected. "I'm not sure what else we should do with them."

And she held out the envelope.

Mary hated herself. She hated herself for wanting those letters. She hated herself for her reaction upon seeing them – for poring over the man who had written them. She would take Jinx in a heartbeat over James, but he was the one whose time she'd really lost. It wasn't supposed to work this way. She'd had no help either time – not when James had gone, nor Jinx – no one grown-up and adult to comfort her as should've been done when she was a child.

"Whatever…" she strode around the desk and snatched the peace offering, and then to the door, yanking her bag from the ground. "I need to go. I'll see you tomorrow morning for the funeral."

Brandi just stood there, gaping and perplexed, but Mary left her in the dust. She glided past Robyn, who paid absolutely no attention in the vast, cavernous studio. Mary only stopped when she reached the chilly sidewalk, and saw her niece through the glass.

She was delicate and petite – a miniature Jinx revolving around on her toes, hands poised high above her head in a circle. She repeated the same move over and over, perfecting it in front of the mirror. Mary never knew Robyn to be as calm as when she was dancing.

And why couldn't Jinx be here to teach her the rest of the way? Why couldn't she be there to sing songs for Alice, or wear herself out playing baseball with Norah?

More importantly, why couldn't she be there to tell Mary she understood her desperation for a parent in a time of tragedy? No matter which parent that was.

XXX

**A/N: Just another item added onto Mary's plate. She's going to have to deal with Jinx AND James sooner or later! ;)**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: I am glad some of you are still enjoying the story – at least, I hope you are! Unfortunately, it's funeral day in Mary/Marshall world…**

XXX

Mary woke jumpy and anxious on Monday morning; a bundle of nerves that she couldn't settle, and the cups of coffee didn't help. She didn't imagine the day of the funeral would have such an effect on her; cause such a drastic transformation, but it had. She felt sick just at the idea of saying her final goodbyes to Jinx, because she knew after today, that was it. She had to move on; strive forth; get going. All without her mother.

It had only been a week. How did anyone expect her to just saddle up and strap on after a mere seven days? She could barely wrap her brain around the fact there was a lifetime ahead with no sugary sweet greetings, no grandmother spoiling the kids, no unexpected drop-ins or phone calls. Mary had never thought she would miss those things.

The service was scheduled for eleven; the girls had been called in absent to school, and Mary was fooling with her hair in the long mirror in her bedroom at 10:15. She didn't want to wear it down; Jinx had always insisted she keep it out of her face and she'd never abided. She'd settled for sweeping it to one side with some bobby pins, but they weren't staying in. Her hair wouldn't twist the right way and loose strands snuck out. Where was Brandi when you needed her?

She'd left the door open, but heard a tentative knock regardless.

"Yeah?" she barked at the sound, eyes not leaving her masterpiece in the mirror.

"Mom…?" came a timid voice. "Can I come in for a second?"

Norah.

Mary turned; pieces of her bangs still pinched in her fingers, and saw her daughter standing in the doorway. She wore black corduroy pants and a fuzzy turtleneck of the same color. Mary could see Marshall's silver necklace sparkling on her chest. Her blonde hair was combed, and she was ready to go.

"What do you need?" Mary asked without really inviting her, but Norah took it as such and walked in anyway.

"Nothing…" she plopped down on the bed to watch Mary struggle with her hair. "Marshall's helping Alice with her shoes."

"All right…" Mary muttered absently, wondering why this was important.

But Norah simply sat, kicking her legs against the side of the bed; Mary could see her in the reflection from the mirror. She looked nice, her mother thought. She knew Norah wouldn't wear a skirt, but she preferred it this way. She wouldn't have looked right otherwise; not like herself.

"Mom, can I ask you something?"

There was a strange quality to her voice, almost like she didn't want to hear the reply to whatever question she had. Still, Mary had known there was a reason she'd come in here, no matter what the girl said. Ripping the bobby pins out and starting over, she gave her the green light without turning around.

"Mmm hmm?" it was indistinct, but Norah would catch on.

Suddenly, she hedged, "I mean, you don't have to answer if you don't want to, I just…"

"Spill it Bug," Mary interrupted. "What's on your mind?"

Norah sighed, knowing she could not avoid a woman of Mary's intuition and intellect, even when she was jittery and obsessed with her hair. She shifted back and forth on the bed, twisting her hands in her lap, watching Mary painstakingly attempt to tame her waves.

"Will we…_see_ Jinx today?" she finally spoke in a hushed voice. "Like…her body?"

Mary knew she had to turn around now, to leave her hair for when her daughter wasn't quite so probing. With an exhale, she palmed the bobby pins and rotated from the mirror. Norah was looking at her, her dark eyes large and wide with potential apprehension. Mary wasn't entirely sure if she'd asked because she was fearful, or curious. With Norah you never knew.

"Did you want to?" she decided to check.

"No," she said at once. "It would be creepy. I don't want to see her dead."

"Well, that makes two of us…" Mary agreed in a low voice, raking her fingers through her matted locks now, waiting to see if that was all Norah had wanted to know.

"So, we won't?" the ten-year-old needed clarification.

"No," Mary assured her. "The casket won't be open. Brandi I decided last week."

"Oh…" Norah breathed something that sounded like a sigh of relief, but Mary realized the effect her words might have a little too late. The gaze altered to bewilderment, but realization as well. "So…you and Brandi saw her then?"

Strictly speaking, Mary could tell right off the bat that Norah didn't really require a response. She had figured out on her own what one went through when trying to determine if a casket should be for public viewing. She was too smart not to have noticed the up-and-down roller-coaster of emotions Mary had put on in the last week. She had to have realized some of it came from something like this.

"Yeah…" the mother shrugged and turned back to the mirror, wondering if she had enough energy left to keep messing with her hair. "Last Thursday."

That didn't sound right. It sounded as though they'd met for lunch or something, not viewed the remains.

"It's over now," she drove onward, trying to quiet these particular questions. "We saw enough."

Through the shine of the mirror, Mary could see Norah go silent again, sensing when she'd run her limit. She slumped her shoulders and folded her hands, considering – contemplating. Maybe it was the timbre to Mary's voice that made her realize that her mother was having a hard time. Maybe she herself was having a hard time and needed someone to confide in. Mary would always be her first choice.

"Do you think I'm sad enough about Jinx?"

The words sounded eerily foreign, like Norah had spoken a different language. Mary wrinkled her nose on the spot and left the mirror once more, one pin secure and one out of her bangs now. She fixed her daughter, looking meek, with eyes narrowed into slits. Where did she come up with this stuff?

"What?" she said it a little louder than intended, but she was astonished. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, I don't know…" Norah hunched her shoulders in embarrassment, but nonetheless used to the way Mary reacted to things. "I mean, Robyn and Alice cried about it, and they keep talking about how much they're going to miss her…"

"So?" Mary shot back.

"So…I didn't cry…" Norah reminded her slowly.

"Who cares?" Mary waved this away, still with her face of bafflement. "You'll miss her too, right?"

Norah didn't even consider, "Well, yeah…" she sounded very certain. "I just thought that's what you're supposed to do when somebody dies. You cried, right? Dad said you did. And Marshall told me you did when you lost your dad."

Boy, the men in her life were just itching to play on her weepy moments, Mary thought. They were hoarding them like jewels – proof that she was human. Proof she wasn't made of stone. But, if the result was the worrisome look in Norah's deep brown eyes that her mother spent part of each day bawling, then it certainly wasn't worth it.

"Maybe I did…" she refused to commit. "But, there's no law saying you _have_ to. It doesn't mean you loved Jinx any less than Robyn or Alice or anybody else…" she insisted. "You were her first granddaughter. I'd say that gives you pretty high ranking."

And she went back to her reflection, annoyed now that Norah had known she'd fallen apart and not only taken it to heart, but actually used it as means to defame herself. But, with the annoyance came a definite sense of gloom. She was in for this sort of thing in the entire day that lay ahead. She couldn't be certain she was up to it.

As it was, Norah eased herself off the bed and slunk slowly up to Mary's side, inching her way underneath her arm, forcing her to stop playing with her stubborn hair. She found that her hand squeezed Norah's forearm of her own accord, reveling in that little bit of consolation her daughter had thought to give her.

"She used to feed you French fries when you were a baby…" Mary shared, watching them stand side-by-side; one a spitting image of the other. "And dress you up in tutus."

Norah laughed, "Nuh-uh," she shook her head. "She probably did that to Robyn…"

"You too," Mary reaffirmed. "Like I said, you were her first. You got everything – even the mistakes."

Norah didn't have anything to say to that, and merely flashed her mother a sweet, understated smile from below her. It spoke of more than falling into better days; days long since snuffed out; days that would never come to pass again. It said that, on some level, Norah knew Mary had appreciated Jinx's devotion to her oldest, even with the errors in judgment. She was an intelligent girl.

"I wish she hadn't died, mom…" she stated simply, as any ten-year-old was known to do. "I wish she were still here so you wouldn't be so unhappy."

It was Mary's turn not to have anything to say, and instead expressed her thoughts by kissing the top of Norah's head, so readily available. She allowed her lips to linger for a moment, closing her eyes, and breathing her in. She had to draw as much from her as humanly possible today.

"Go out and grab your shoes, Bug…" she instructed thickly, knowing tears weren't far away. "We're gonna have to leave soon."

Norah nodded, loitering momentarily and dawdling getting to the door, watching Mary silently pull herself together. But, eventually she knew she'd worn out her welcome and steered herself back to the hall, shutting the hatch this time in her wake.

Enclosed now, Mary almost threw the bobby pins to the bedside table in her frustration. Who was she to think she could style her own hair? Trying to practice at this age was ridiculous. Instead, she sunk down onto the bed rather roughly, burying her face in her hands and trying to gather some precision.

She was feeling six different things, and none of them prompted closure. She was livid – with herself, with James, with the universe. She was tired – of the house, of the hovering, of the expectations. And she was miserable – about Jinx and about James. Again. Leave it to her father to fall into two categories.

Today was not about him, Mary reminded herself over and over, pressing her palms further into her lids. It was about Jinx, and only Jinx. Those letters made no difference one way or the other.

Three sharp raps on the door, "Mary?"

The woman emerged, blinking toward the voice, which she knew was Marshall's. With a glance at the clock, she saw that it was 10:30. They were going to have to leave. It was time.

Playing it cool, "Yeah?"

With a creak of the knob, the man entered, looking extra-long-and-tall in his suit. He wore the jacket and shirt, but his tie was still draped over the end of the bed. Nonetheless, his hair had been styled; his shoes were on, and he looked every bit the part of the doting husband, with or without the tie.

"You about ready in here?" he asked, taking care to close the door behind him. "I got Alice dressed; she and Norah are watching something rather trivial on the television until we sound the alarm."

Mary nodded at the run-down, but chose not to answer his question. She just kept bobbing her head, watching him as he retrieved his tie and slung it over his arm until he could be in front of a mirror. That was not his destination, however, and he stopped where Mary was sitting stationary on the bed.

It seemed his inquiry had been rhetorical, "You look beautiful," he stated, roving her slouched figure with his twinkling eyes.

She didn't think so. She _had_ worn a skirt, much to her own dismay; a slinky one that reached her knees, and black heels. Her top was plainer still; just a black shirt with an equally dark sweater, adorned with buttons, thrown over it. Her hair, she imagined, was still fanned all about her shoulders from where she'd attempted to tame it. She looked stoic and stodgy. Beautiful wasn't the word.

"That isn't the point," was her callous response. And then, deciding she could try to accept, "But, thanks."

She didn't want to stand up just yet. It was comfortable on the bed, and warmer inside than out. The girls were content in the living room. There was no reason to go anywhere.

"Well, I think you are quite the classy broad this morning…" Marshall continued, and he actually kneeled on the floor, looking into her vacant orbs. On his haunches, he was as tall as Mary was sitting down. "I love your hair all tossed like that."

She couldn't help it – couldn't help the tiny smile that escaped. He hadn't even known she'd been trying to make it more presentable, but he loved it anyway. He probably thought it was sexy, a staggering thought for this particular day.

She decided not to tell him the mane she had wasn't the tresses she'd intended, "How's Alice feeling? You think she'll make it today?"

"I believe so…" Marshall nodded as he attempted to do up his tie without the help of a visual, and squatting to boot. "I may try to get her to sleep between the church and the – for lack-of-a-better word – festivities here at the house," he hypothesized. "It's about a twenty minute drive, and it'll give her a boost for the afternoon."

"Good luck with that…" Mary scoffed, but deep down hoped he was able to manage.

He laughed in turn and still worked on the knot in his tie, but it was clear he was having a hard time without being able to see it. He was crooked and was cocking his head absurdly, as though able to will the strap to do itself up if he leaned the right way.

Mary shook her head and took pity on him, "You need some help, doofus…" she told him. "Let me."

Without waiting for some sort of sanction, she took the tie in both hands, slowly pulling it through and securing the knot. Something about it was soothing; routine and mundane. Mary knew there was going to be no more of that as the day progressed, and she ate it up while she had the chance.

It seemed Marshall was enjoying himself as well, even though he looked preposterous knelt on the ground, like a dog begging for a treat.

"How did you get so skilled at this particular action?" he asked after a moment. "I do not recall teaching you to tie a tie. Where did you learn?"

Mary slowed her grooming efforts, trying to keep her eyes bored into the silky, satin quality of the fabric. It was soft and supple against her fingers. It was black with tiny grey stripes; diagonal down the sides. If they caught the light just right, they shone like silver.

"My dad," she finally whispered, pulling up on the loop so it would cinch together properly. "When I was five he showed me how to tie my shoelaces…" she smoothed the cloth down, so it wouldn't get caught on the hem of Marshall's jacket. "And after that came ties. He said he wanted an engineer for the rare opportunities he had to wear something so fancy."

Marshall nodded, dually noting that her expression had gone slack and unoccupied as she worked. She was just leveling the tie over and over again; running her fingers down like her life depended upon it being even with the buttons.

"All set…" she claimed, and made to stand up while Marshall did the same.

But for Mary, she didn't know what to do or where to go now that she'd left her seat. She was seeing Marshall, but not really seeing him all at once. He was this formless, hazy shape in her vision; neither here nor there. He was the one who was going to make her move. The one who would force her out there to mourn her mother when she wished to do anything but.

"Looks pretty snazzy…" he held up his neck-trimming to demonstrate. "What would I do without you?"

He stretched his neck to peck Mary's cheek, and she felt her skin tingling with the contact. The touch was trying to pull her back to shelter; to groundedness. Her hand floated there, finding the spot, but it was nothing but flesh; completely ordinary.

"I understand you unearthed a little something yesterday…" her husband prodded with the mention of James, and it was this that made Mary tune back in and listen aptly. "Brandi mentioned something about some letters that were buried in Jinx's office; they were discovered during the excavation."

Mary didn't know what to tell him as they stood there staring at each other; she, absolutely deadpan and he, inquisitive and worried. She wondered if he ever completely lost that 'worried' look in his eyes. She gave him many reasons to withhold it.

"Yeah, I found them…" she said it entirely naturally so he could discern nothing from her tone. "Seems I wasn't James' only correspondent."

"You think anything of it?" Marshall goaded politely.

"No. Why would I?"

He wasn't fooled, "Because he was your father and I've been able to tell you have some mixed feelings about the fact that he isn't here today. That if things had been different he'd have been helping you through this as any loving father might…"

"Would you please stop?!" Mary's voice flew up about three octaves; wrenching from her system the longer he spoke. It was maddening, how well he could read her when she'd worked so hard to keep it all inside. "Do you think I need to be thinking about him today?"

Never mind that she already had been.

"This is supposed to be about Jinx!" a gruff, growling reminder. "I don't even…!" her eyes jumped wildly around the room, searching for accuracy that wasn't coming. "I don't even want to think about how she'd feel if she…"

The words trailed off; disappearing and sprawling apart one-by-one. Now was not the time for this. They had somewhere to be; appointments to keep. She'd said her piece. Surely Marshall could accept it for now. He looked slightly affronted by the way she'd jumped down his throat, dipping his chin and eyeing her with a quizzical look.

"I don't want to do this," but even as she tried to keep her rickety emotions under control, her voice still broke on the final word. "I don't want to do this right now. I want Jinx…"

She hadn't finished her sentence before Marshall had taken her softened attitude at face value and gathered her into his arms, leaving all offense behind. His hands were strong; his grasp solid and unyielding. He locked her within while she consented to hugging him back, sighing loudly and dramatically over his shoulder.

"I know you do…" he whispered kindly. "But, part of her – some part of her – is here. In you, in Brandi, in the kids…"

Mary could only shake her head, lamenting her inability to complete her thought before he'd snatched her up. What she'd been trying to say was, 'I want Jinx to understand.' She likely would not have gotten any further than, 'I want Jinx to…' but Marshall had only heard the first three words.

In the here and now, it didn't matter anyway. He was satisfied momentarily, and she felt safe in his embrace.

"I know I haven't said it lately…" she murmured to placate him further, feeling him pat her back soundly from the other side. "Or enough. But, I love you."

She did love him – dearly, deeply, and everlastingly. She just wondered when that love would be strong enough to take away the pain that was circling against her heart.

"I don't need to hear it," he whispered gallantly. "I see it. And, I love you too."

XXX

**A/N: I definitely drag out 'funeral day.' I feel I should let you in on that one upfront! **


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Not a very long chapter here, but necessary in its own right. A brief glimpse into the funeral.**

XXX

To Mary's relief, the funeral went off without a hitch. Or, she supposed it would've been relief if she were feeling much of anything. She was numb throughout the whole service, not noticing all the people, not hearing the words, barely registering Marshall's hand, which never moved from where it rested upon her knee. It was all too surreal to feel in any way valid. It was like it was all being done for show; none of it meant anything anymore.

Brandi cried the entire duration, and when Mary came out of her stupor long enough, it was to wonder why this did not seem to bother Robyn or Max. Then again, she likely wouldn't have been able to tell if Max was experiencing any sensation whatsoever. He just sat there – in the second row with the rest of the grandchildren, Mark, and Joanna – his eyes fixated on the priest. He looked comically grown-up in his little suit with the scholarly glasses.

Robyn cried too and spent the greater part of the eulogy weeping on Mark's arm. Mary had known it was a bad idea to seat the kids behind them because of just this sort of thing, but she was too worried in case she lost her marbles. She wasn't going to risk coming undone with Norah and Alice right next to her. So, she sat squashed between Marshall and Brandi with Peter on the aisle, wishing she were the one with elbow room.

It was right before the closing hymns that she thought it might happen. The priest, who had been very mellow and non-thespian about the whole thing, reached the concluding portion of his tribute.

"As I stated at the opening of our service today, Jinx was survived by her two daughters, Mary and Brandi…" he inclined his head politely at the front row before going on. "I only knew Jinx for a short time when she contacted me about moving the weekly AA meetings to our basement…"

He'd been referencing Alcoholics Anonymous very unabashedly throughout the entire morning, like it was nothing. While Mary had initially been grateful he had not danced around the issue, now she wished he would leave it alone. They knew already.

"…But, in that period, I learned one very important thing about Jinx…" he paused to let that take effect, drinking in the rest of the crowd. "You girls so clearly hung the moon in her eyes. I know how proud she was of the fine young ladies you grew up to be…"

Stop. Stop. Mary was begging him to just end it there.

"And, I am certain, were she here today, she would be still more delighted at the example you are setting for your children…" a quick indication of the kids. "I cannot count how many times I heard about, 'My daughter the executive,' and 'My daughter the US Marshal…'" he smiled fondly, earning a sad ripple of laughter from the group. "She could not have cared for you more."

Brandi was getting noisy now. Peter attempted to shush her so they could finish without this becoming some sort of display and she did quiet down.

"I leave you all today with the comfort that there are two women on this earth embodying Jinx's spirit and following her lead as she departs this earth."

Once she saw that he'd stepped down from the pulpit and introduced the chorus to sing one last hymn, Mary turned her face from the front. She was a profile next to Marshall, close enough to breathe in his ear. He spooled an arm loose and pulled her furthest shoulder toward him, resting a warm cheek in the high spot on his chest.

She knew she was crying; the tears were controlled and manageable, but down they fell nonetheless, dampening the edge of Marshall's coat. He had to speak up a little over the piano, hunching downward to address the appearance she was hiding.

"You okay?" he murmured, his breath hot on her flesh.

Mary nodded quickly, as well as she was able from her awkward position, glad they had the music to cover up. Marshall's fingers were still curled around her side, guiding her even further in.

Still nodding, "I don't want to do this in front of the girls," she tried to make it sound urgent and definite, but her voice shook regardless.

"It's all right," he promised. "They'll understand."

He was wrong, and Mary wouldn't have cared even if he was right. She still didn't want to put on the sort of scene Brandi was showcasing, blowing her nose like a trumpet on her left.

"Listen to the way she spoke about you…" Marshall encouraged fruitlessly, her head under his chin now as she squeezed her eyes shut and tried to pull herself back. "Never missed an opportunity to boast."

He was attempting to get her to laugh, because he knew she wouldn't want to stay a wreck – judging by her last words alone. But, she couldn't do it. If she chuckled, she'd only spill more tears over.

"It is perfectly natural to cry," he reminded her when he got no response. "Do not go feeling guilty about it."

But, Mary had finally given herself long enough. She was able to sit fully upright once more, although allowed a portion of her head to still reside against Marshall's shoulder. Her cheeks were slippery and she knew she couldn't turn around, because she must look terrible. But, she was through with her miniscule show of emotion. She wanted to listen to the hymn now, which was Danny Boy – a favorite of Jinx's; a tribute to their Irish Catholic heritage.

She had to admit she'd never really paid attention to the words before.

"_Oh Danny Boy – the pipes, the pipes are calling. From glen to glen and down the mountainside. The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying…"_

The remains of the snow outside seemed to seep their cold into Mary's bones. For such a pretty song, it was brutally honest at the moment. Was it supposed to make her feel like this? She snuggled deeper against Marshall.

"_But come ye back when summer's in the meadow – or when the valley's hushed and white with snow…"_

Jinx was not coming back. Neither was James. She was the parentless child. A late-in-life orphan.

"'_Tis I'll be there – in sunshine or in shadow…"_

With a gesture that Mary felt certain was not struck with irony, for Marshall always paid rapt attention to anything lyrical, he squeezed her hand as the piano began to swell. She clutched back rather roughly, knowing she might be hurting him; knowing it was too hard. But, he never flinched.

"_Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy; I love you so…"_

She could hear Peter practically beseeching Brandi to get it together, however kindly, when another, much lighter tone reached her ears. Tuning out the next refrain of the song, she upped her senses a little higher and found that the voice sounded like Norah's.

"Shh…" the whisper was pressing, but sensitive too. "It's okay…"

"I want daddy…"

A tinny, shrill whine; a yearning for protection.

"Alice, its okay," repeated words from Norah. "I'm here."

"They're taking Jinx away…" the younger squeaked, Mary elevating her ears another notch. "I want her to come back…"

The sniveling and lamentation was pure, raw sadness from Alice. It was panic; it was disorientation; it was insanity.

"I don't want her to go away; why does she have to go?"

Something was helping Mary not to turn around, and she'd never be able to discern what it was. As the tune warbled through the rafters, she caught the voices of her two daughters – one rational, one distraught; one sobbing, one trying to mend the wounds. Slowly, Mary raised her eyes a fraction of an inch to meet Marshall's gaze.

To her immense shock, he looked like he was about to shed a tear or two as well, but not for his mother-in-law. Without a word, he jerked his head to the back pew. Inconspicuously as possible, Mary was able to peer around his shoulder and over the back of the bench at a sight that was likely able to have her bawling on the spot.

There were Joanna and Mark on the inside of the pew; there was Robyn, a little more reserved now, resting her head on Mark's forearm. On the far end, behind Brandi and Peter, was Max; enduring, upright, and put together.

But squeezed between the two were a pair of sisters; one blonde, one brunette. A Mary and a Brandi for the newest century. Alice had crawled onto Norah's lap; the space was barely big enough for her, because they weren't that far apart in size. Norah was unmistakably hugging her, curling the baby into a little ball, shielding her wet face from the sight of Jinx's coffin being taken out of the hall.

"Close your eyes…" she murmured. "Don't look."

"_In sunshine or in shadow…"_

"You tell me when it's okay?" Alice blubbered fearfully.

"Not until it's gone…"

"_Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy…"_

"Promise?"

In slow motion, it seemed, Norah pressed her lips to the top of Alice's dark brown waves.

"I promise."

"_I love you so."_

XXX

**A/N: Obviously, I do not own 'Danny Boy' and have also neglected to say that I don't own IPS either. I love 'Danny Boy' though, and I thought it fit well for this tribute to Jinx, given everything going on in this scene. Hope you enjoyed the moment between Norah and Alice, as well as Mary and Marshall.**


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: Everyone's reviews on last night's chapter were very kind and I really appreciate it. I had no idea such a short chapter would affect some of you as it did. I am humbled. **

XXX

Unfortunately, Mary's agitation failed to loosen once they commenced for the wake at the house. She wondered, over and over, why they had not made the decision to hold the gathering at Brandi's and Peter's mansion. It was bigger and she would not feel so claustrophobic. In the back of her mind, she knew why; Brandi hadn't been up to the planning such a thing required. Mary had stepped in like the big sister she was touted to be.

Still though, they were packed like sardines in a can and the more minutes passed, the more Mary wanted to be alone. She was not in the mood for hand-shaking and a lot of 'please' and 'thank-you.' Even all the food coming in wasn't enough to appease her. The sooner everyone left, the better.

She was sequestered between the fridge and the island, munching on pretzels and cheese while people weaved in and out. Mark managed to make his way over, his tie loose at the neck.

"There you are…" he said breathlessly, like it had been an effort to swim through the throng of people. "I thought maybe you'd run off – thrown your hat in and called it quits."

"Don't think I haven't considered it," Mary grumbled, crunching loudly on her pretzels. "I will give you a hundred bucks in cash if you can figure out a way to get rid of everyone right now," eyeing the group with disdain.

"Marshall seems to be handling a lot of it," Mark observed, perusing the other man in the living room, speaking genially with many of the AA buddies. "You got lucky there."

"Lucky isn't in my vocabulary today."

This caused Mark to button up; picking up the signals that Mary was irritated, uncomfortable, and melancholy all at once. It was not a good combination, and it was important for him to proceed delicately – not too sweet, not too sarcastic.

"It was a nice service…" her ex began, reaching for some snacks himself, choosing a piece of cauliflower. "I didn't think that priest knew Jinx – not until he mentioned all that stuff at the end."

The end wasn't something Mary wanted to discuss, "They didn't for very long," she clarified. "You heard him."

Mark nodded, seeing already this was a bad route to go. While he gnawed his cauliflower, he took in the sea of individuals throughout the living room. Brandi and Peter were glued at the hip near the door, greeting people as they walked in. Marshall had yet to leave his post by the window. Others had taken to making themselves at home on the couch.

"Where did the kids go?" he inquired, noticing their absence. "I've barely seen them since we got back."

"I think they're shut up in the girls' room," Mary reported darkly. "Sneaky little heathens."

Mark laughed, "If you want I could try to slip you out a back way…" he teased. "I might actually consider it, if I didn't know Marshall would pummel me."

"Yeah, my star-wielding hero would probably bust you up for trying to smuggle me out of my own mother's wake," Mary gobbled down another cube of cheese, the idea not sounding half bad.

She loved a good escape; it was one of her biggest talents; to be able to shut herself away from the rest of the world.

"And, can you imagine Jinx's reaction?" she added as an afterthought.

Mark didn't respond to that, but he did smirk, pondering a little more thoroughly. His boyish eyes took on their deepest brown; their most childlike eminence. He was feeling clever – maybe just pleased.

Flashing Mary the lids that belonged to his daughter, "This is gonna sound _really_ stupid…" it was obvious he didn't think so, but Mary might. "So, don't hit me."

"Depends on how stupid," Mary bargained, but she wasn't serious.

"But…Jinx would've _loved_ today," he claimed genially, still grinning in that fond, fatherly way he had now possessed for ten years.

Contrary to Mark's belief, Mary did not find this stupid, and had actually been thinking along the same lines. She hadn't found the way to voice it – or, indeed, anyone to voice it to – but here was someone who shared her sentiment. She nodded slowly, shaking off her acidic demeanor for the time being.

"I know what you mean…" she agreed. "You always hear people say things like, 'Such-and-such would've been mortified that we'd gone to all this trouble…'" she allowed a semi-bitter chortle to sneak out. "Not Jinx."

"She'd have been tickled pink about all the 'trouble,'" Mark picked up the thread.

"Probably would've thought we didn't go to _enough_ trouble."

But, even as she finished the thought, Mary knew the last portion wasn't true. Mark's description was far more accurate. Jinx would've blushed herself all to pieces at the amount of energy that had gone into her own funeral. Although Mary knew it was the biggest oxymoron on the planet, she felt sad that her mother wasn't able to be there.

At her own funeral. What a trip.

Fortunately, her delusions were shaken out of her by a study on Mark's part, "Hey, who is that?"

Mary followed his finger to the door, but couldn't see at first where he was pointing to, because there were so many people in the way.

"Who?" she pushed.

"That woman behind the couch – she's going over to Marshall now…" he even wiggled his finger this time. "She was at the funeral too – in the flowered skirt with her hair all on top of her head…"

But Mark needn't have explained any further, for Mary's eye had caught exactly who he was looking at. She didn't even have to blink twice. The curly up-do, the floral arrangement on her clothes; the proper way she paraded around, shaking hands and pecking cheeks. She hadn't changed a bit.

"That's Eleanor," Mary breathed, although with something close to liberation, rather than displeasure.

Hey, at least it wasn't Abigail this time.

"Who's Eleanor?" Mark was puzzled, not having heard the name before. "She another friend of Jinx's? I didn't think so; all those AA pals seem to hang out together…"

"No, she isn't…" Mary sighed to correct him, knowing her place was soon arriving to make small talk. "She used to work with Marshall and me. They transferred her somewhere else about a year and a half before I had Norah," her recap got wordy. "You said you saw her at the funeral too?"

"Yeah, near the back."

Wasn't that just like Eleanor? She would stay out of the way; she would remain quiet; she wouldn't want to disturb anybody. Mary tried to consider the politeness with contempt, but found her ability to do so was running out of air quickly. It had been a long time since she'd seen Eleanor, but something essential about her was starting to come to mind.

She'd experienced an unexpected death too – although in what was probably a far more horrific manner.

"It looks like she's cornered me," Mary voiced, seeing Eleanor bypass Marshall, and pause only briefly to say a quick hello to Lia and Stan. "Time for me to turn my manners on."

"Well, I'll let you chat without my hovering…" Mark obviously thought he was doing Mary a favor, not knowing about the amusing dysfunction her and Eleanor had once operated within. "I'll find you before I leave, okay?"

He placed a gentle hand on her forearm, and the contact put a flood of gratitude in Mary's soul. She was rather up-and-down today, and it had suddenly hit her what an enormous asset and friend Mark had been to her throughout the last week. She'd have been stuck by herself all day with awful news upon Jinx's passing if it hadn't been for him. He had gone above and beyond for her, and she'd yet to acknowledge it.

"Okay…" she whispered, nodding slowly. "Thank-you for coming."

"Wouldn't have missed it," he claimed easily. "When you're feeling up to it, there's something I want to talk to you about."

With this appeal, Mary suddenly remembered that-that was why Mark had come to the house that same morning they'd heard about Jinx. He hadn't mentioned it since then, not even in passing.

"What is it?" sidestepping the 'when you feel up to it' portion.

Mark shook his head, "Not today. Soon."

Mary was reluctant to agree, but Mark had already moved on to something else.

"Give me one for the road, kid…"

Mary managed a weak chuckle as he bestowed her with a quick hug, smacking his lips against her cheek as they became one. He thumped her a little harder than was necessary on the back, but part of her liked it. It proved he was trying to keep things from becoming too messy.

"Hang in there, Mare…" he muttered softly in her ear. "I know it's hard."

This again reminded her of Mark's father, and the fact that he'd lost him so young. One of these days, if she ever became whole again, she would have to ask him about his dad. It was about time.

But, now was not the moment, and she slipped free, nodding to his directions. He slunk off back to the living room without a more formal farewell, just as Eleanor paraded into her secluded corner. Mary tried to read her expression from a distance. Part of it was guarded, like she expected a sparring, but part of it was sympathetic as well. Mary wondered which philosophy she would adopt.

"What is it we used to say to each other on a bad day?" Eleanor mused without so much as a 'hello.' "Skip the spirited barbs?"

Her tone was light and breezy and made Mary smile as she nodded her agreement, "Sounds about right."

"Well, I suppose I can pack it in for the afternoon," Eleanor decided, her heels click-clacking on the linoleum. She stopped directly in front of Mary, leaning an elbow on the island and waving her free hand at the platter of food. "I won't even say anything about the fact that you probably did not leave any snacks for the rest of us."

"Hiding them all in my coat pocket," Mary teased, chewing on her lower lip with her inability to toss one back at Eleanor, but the other woman had been right. She didn't have it in her today.

"Well, that explains the empty tray," the elder concluded.

Mary bobbed her head in response, trying to keep her poker face on, trying to stay as casual as Eleanor was. It was a tantalizing prospect, the ability to toss off your troubles and run headfirst into being aloof and uncaring again. But, the more she tried, the more she struggled with it. She'd never been very good at hiding from Eleanor; she'd always seen right through her sarcasm and dry wit. Now was no exception.

The voice dropped lower, "How you doing?"

Mary shrugged, blinking fast, "I'm okay." And then, "Tell me you didn't fly all the way from Chicago for this," it was not her intention to sound insulting or ungrateful; she was simply surprised.

"No, I had a conference in Phoenix over the weekend…" she clarified. "Albuquerque is a hop-skip-and-a-bounce from there to Chicago."

"Who even told you?" Mary wanted to know, gnawing on her thumbnail now.

"Stan," she said at once with a quick glance back to the man himself. "We keep in touch now and again – I was so happy he found someone."

"Us too," Mary chimed in, glad to be off the subject of Jinx. "Lia is amazing; she lets us do our Marshal thing twenty-four-seven when we're together, and Stan says she never questions him about his job…"

"Trust in a relationship will do that to you," Eleanor dictated philosophically, and Mary managed not to roll her eyes.

"It's been nice having them back this week," she commented without addressing Eleanor's values. "With everything going on. I think they head back on Wednesday though; Stan can't ever afford to stay long."

Eleanor indicated her agreement of this, leaving the conversation in silence. Mary had been boosted to talk about something so normal; so regular – about anything other than her mother. She knew the discussions around them consisted only of that, and right now Eleanor had Mary insulated in this bubble – away from it all. Fortuitously, the old office manager seemed to sense her former partner in crime was enjoying the stability and ran with it.

"Keeping up with Stan has kept me up on a few other developments as well…" there was a hint of deviousness. "Like you and Marshall."

Mary found herself grinning slightly, as though she'd been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. It was odd to talk about their relationship with somebody who had known them so intimately before they'd hooked up. Subconsciously, she wondered if Eleanor had picked up on the signals all those years ago.

"How long has it been?" she goaded, smirking herself now.

"Together for nine years," Mary reported swiftly. "Married for four."

"And I understand you spawned children in this little escapade?" Eleanor carried onward, visibly relishing the idea of Mary as a mother; the Mary she'd known previously never would've been able to handle such a thing. "I don't actually have details on that one, but I saw the group of them at the service. They can't all be yours."

"No…" Mary actually laughed at the absurdity, although in some respects, Robyn and Max were just as much hers as Brandi's.

She wished she had a visual aide – that the kids had been present – so she could talk them up properly with Eleanor here. Nonetheless, she never minded an opportunity to chatter about the girls and launched in at once.

"The taller blonde…the one with the shorter hair…?" she began to describe.

"Right."

"That's my oldest – Norah. She's ten."

"You and Marshall didn't waste any time," Eleanor quipped, and Mary chuckled again, but shook her head at the assumption.

"Yeah, she isn't Marshall's," she explained quickly. "My ex-husband Mark is her dad – the guy that was wandering away when you walked up," she referenced.

"How very modern of you, Mary," Eleanor skated right over her gaffe as though it were nothing and proceeded onward. "So, if you have an oldest, you must have a youngest," she figured, remembering Mary's word choice earlier.

"That would be Alice," she revealed with another nod. "She would've been pretty easy to pick out in that group of four – she's the only one who isn't blonde. She's the little bit with the dark curls – she's four."

"I did see her…" Eleanor's casual tone suddenly turned something close to awed, which perplexed the second until she continued. "She's gorgeous, Mary, with those beautiful blue eyes…"

"Thanks," the mother shrugged. "She's her daddy's girl."

Eleanor smiled lovingly at the comparison, answering the last question she might've had. With Norah belonging to another man, it was only inevitable she wonder if Alice had experienced the same fate. But, with eyes like those, there was no guessing who Alice's father was. She was Marshall's child, through and through.

"I actually caught a glimpse of Alice out in the hall when the service was over…" Eleanor soldiered onward. "Poor thing seemed pretty upset."

"Yeah…" Mary sighed, having noticed the same thing herself; disheartened they had somehow made their way to Jinx eventually. "She's been a little mixed up – first brush with death and all."

She attempted to make it sound like it was nothing, but it was likely Eleanor wasn't fooled. Mary had learned more and more as the week had gone on that her face went slack pretty easily these days. She despised herself for it. She despised herself that this whole house full of people wasn't enough for her. It wasn't enough to know that all these individuals had loved Jinx, respected her, admired her, and wanted to do right by her.

It wasn't enough when one of them wasn't James.

XXX

**A/N: I hope most of you are able to tolerate Mark. I know it is obvious that I like him by the way I utilize him in all of my stories; that bias definitely shows. I just like the idea of Mary having a friend now that Marshall is both her husband and friend. Anyway, I'll button it now. ;) **


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N: I am always excited when I surpass 100 reviews and you all did that a long time ago. I will be thrilled if you continue the streak. :) **

XXX

It was five o'clock before the guests dwindled down to Stan, Lia, Joanna, and Mark. There were also a few of Peter's closest car salesmen that had known him for upwards of twenty years. The sun, a great fiery orange ball above the Sandia Mountains, was starting to dip below the peaks, casting a strange purple effect on the last of the snow. Those leaving the stoop had lengthy, warbling shadows in the half-light; mirroring oddly with their images progressing down the walk.

Mary didn't know if she even had the vigor to heat up one of the many dishes packed into the refrigerator, and was immensely grateful when Stan offered her a fistful of cash to order pizza. They could have it delivered, the kids wouldn't whine about eating it; he was a Godsend.

Leaving the stragglers in the living room, Mary slumped down the hall to ask the children what they preferred, a small portion of her wanting to have it out with them for skipping the entire wake. She knocked without waiting for authority and stuck her head in.

Robyn and Alice were sitting cross-legged in the upper bunk, playing some sort of board game that Mary couldn't see from the ground. Norah was sprawled in her bed, reading with the book straight up over her eyes.

"Norah, what's two and three together?" Alice asked from above.

"Five."

"Move five…" Robyn instructed before Mary decided to make her presence known.

"Hey troops…" she called, and three heads turned her direction. "Marshall's ordering pizza for dinner. What do you guys want?"

Alice shouted, "Cheese!" at the exact same moment Robyn bellowed, "Pepperoni!"

"Pepperoni's gross…" Norah piped up, swinging her legs to try and kick the underside of the mattress, but she was too short and her feet didn't reach. "I don't want any."

"I'll get half-and-half," Mary sighed. "I'll eat the leftover pepperoni with Robyn."

Norah rolled over onto her belly so she was facing the door, her eyes pointed upward to address her mother. Mary noticed she was still in her funeral attire. So were Robyn and Alice, which must've been a trick up in the bed, because they were both wearing dresses. Alice had on pleats and Mary knew it would probably have to be dry-cleaned.

"Is everybody gone?" her oldest asked. "I could barely walk when I was out there earlier. I was afraid I was going to trip."

"Makes two of us," Mary muttered. "Stan and Lia are still here – and dad and Grandma," she was thankful, in that moment, that Jinx had never been 'Grandma' thus inspiring no awkward feelings.

"Those people were here _forever_!" Alice shrieked from the ceiling, seemingly over her little episode from the church. Robyn, Mary noticed, still seemed slightly subdued, but under control. "Like, a million-billion-trillion years…"

"Sure felt that way to some of us," Mary agreed. "I'll call you three when the pizza shows up, but I think it's safe to come out now…" she slipped in tiredly. "No danger of being trampled."

She didn't stick around for them to approve the circumstances, and was almost out the door when she noticed the red scarf hanging over the end of Norah's bunk. It wasn't hers, as she didn't wear anything likely to keep her warm, and even if she did it would've been in the hall closet. It was too big to be Alice's and Robyn would've chosen pink.

Moronically, Mary actually did a head count as the realization hit her. A trio was definitely not the same as a quad.

"Hey, you three…?" she had to speak a little louder, for they had gotten back to their games and were chatting animatedly again. "Where's Max?"

In unison, and not even looking up, "I don't know."

It made Mary mad. Not raging, not livid, but really and truly _mad_. They were good girls and she loved them dearly, and it wasn't even entirely their fault they'd fallen into this pattern. But, the fact that they had left Max somewhere in the cold on the day of Jinx's funeral spiked her ire more than she could've foreseen – especially once Robyn decided to elaborate.

"He said he didn't want stay in here so he went somewhere else…" she concentrated on moving her piece on the board. "I don't know where."

Mary exhaled noisily and smacked a hand against her thigh in her frustration, "…Guys…!" was all she could get out without becoming a menace, but the audible smack combined with her aggravation definitely made them look up.

Robyn, near the top, thought it had something to do with her, "What?"

"Did any of you _ask_ him if he wanted to hang out?" she tossed to the group at large, but Robyn, as the bossy older sister, didn't see the point.

"It wouldn't matter if we had," she insisted. "He never says anything anyway."

"Maybe he would if you ever thought to ask him!"

The reprimand wasn't directed solely for Robyn and, fortunately, she didn't seem to take it as such. Norah elbowed up once more, placing her book face down on the bed, trying to legitimately defend a crime they hadn't even known they'd committed.

"Mom, he said he didn't want to," she persevered. "Honest. What were we supposed to do after that?"

"Listen to me…" she lowered her voice, acting on sorrow and fatigue at the moment, but it needed to be said regardless. "All three of you…"

Norah and Robyn, having been privy to such a tone for longer, halted their activities and paid attention. Alice was still dithering around with her player and was not even on the same planet, causing Mary to kick it up a notch.

"Alice!"

Robyn even smacked her arm so she'd look up, which earned her a wounded look, "Ouch!" but when she saw her cousin jerk her head toward the door, she shut up.

Mary chose her words carefully. She was not some savior of the underdog, but six years of this was enough. She couldn't say for sure why it was hitting her this way today, but it didn't change the facts. Now that she had the girls' focus, she was going to use it.

"I don't want you leaving him out," she ordered in what was very close to her US Marshal voice. "He has feelings. No matter what he says, he doesn't want to be alone."

Who does? Mary couldn't resist considering. It was Norah who brought the differing viewpoint.

"Mom, he might sometimes…" she rationalized. "I mean, I do…"

"This isn't a 'sometimes' thing," Mary reminded them. "Max gets left behind a lot and it needs to stop."

"We didn't do it on purpose, Mary," Robyn couldn't help herself from the defense. "Really."

"I like Max," Alice contributed, like the hammy kiss-up she could sometimes be if she thought she was in trouble.

In the here and now, Mary thought they'd gotten a good taste of what she was trying to get across. She was too drained and too moody to really lay into them. With any luck, they'd remember it for next time. Conceding defeat and coming down off the wave almost as quickly as she'd got on it, she shook her head.

"I'll call you for the pizza…"

And she turned to leave, not knowing what she'd been thinking, when Norah called out.

"Mom…"

Slowly, she rotated to face her ten-year-old, and she saw the guilt swimming in her bottomless, dark eyes. Mary could tell she hadn't meant for this to happen – hadn't meant to set her mother off. She wanted to say something to make up for it, but Mary just extended a hand and waved her away.

"I'll call you for the pizza."

She knew she hadn't lifted Norah's spirits any higher, but nobody should've been expecting much out of her anymore. Defending one kid took enough of her stamina, and it was with this thought that she strode back through the living room, hoping she didn't look overly prominent. Marshall was still jabbering with Stan and Lia; Mark and Joanna occupied with Brandi and Peter. Although Marshall gave her the side-eye once, he made no further comment and left her alone.

Mary opened the door to the laundry room – no Max. She gave the kitchen a clean sweep, and still no Max. He wouldn't go in the master bedroom, and she highly doubted he would choose the basement. She was on the verge of checking, however, when her harried glance caught the back window.

They had a run-down swing set that had been assembled when Norah was about two; it housed two swings and a platform that led to monkey bars. But, the wood was rotting and nobody, not even Alice, played on it. The one at Brandi's and Peter's place was far superior.

But there, sitting cross-legged on the landing above the swings, playing with his shoelaces, was Max. Mary just stood at the blinds and watched him for a minute. How many people had to have walked by this window and _not_ noticed him? If they had, why hadn't they said anything? Being the opposite sex from the majority shouldn't automatically make you an outsider. Mary had never let it stop her.

Slowly, she ventured to the back door and pushed it open, forgetting in her rush to be with her nephew that it was the middle of February and freezing. The breeze bit at her barely-concealed legs, and the thin sweater did nothing to heat her flesh. Still though, she did not go back inside.

Mary wasn't going to call him to her. Instead, she pulled up a chair from their abandoned patio – one that wasn't soaking from melted snow – and sat down. Max heard the metal scrape against the timber and looked up from his post. He, like the girls, was still in his Sunday best. Mary pretended not to notice him; pretended she was simply there to gaze at the soon-to-be-night-sky and its shimmering stars.

Nonetheless, it took Max less than five seconds. He uncurled from his position and climbed down the ladder – no rush, no hurry, but he was on his way. Mary could hear his dress shoes shuffling and squelching through the damp grass. She wondered vaguely if the seat on his slacks was wet.

When he reached the deck, Mary did what was expected of her without making him ask. She pulled him onto her lap with a groan, though he weighed almost nothing; he was spindly and weedy, always had been, except for those cherub cheeks. He wiggled himself into place, resting his back on her chest so his legs dangled toward the ground, his head just to the right of her chin. Mary sighed.

Together, they watched the horizon line, painting watercolors of pink and orange at its crest. The clouds caught each other like smoke, swirling and creating wisps of grey in the otherwise vibrant skyscape. It would be dark soon.

"I liked that song they sang today," Max suddenly donated out of nowhere.

He'd initiated. Mary took it.

"Mmm hmm – Danny Boy?" she hummed, feeling herself revert to rocking him back and forth on her knee.

"The part about the valley and the snow," he continued. "It sounds really nice."

Mary hadn't thought about it, but she supposed he was right, "Yeah, I guess it does."

"Jinx must've liked that song too, huh?" he gambled casually.

Mary nodded this time, brushing his cheek as she did it because they were pressed so close together. He was a nice credence on her lap, seeping her with warmth that certainly wasn't coming from anything in the surrounding atmosphere. It was too cold; they both should've been wearing coats.

"Yep…" she replied, turning to kiss his temple briefly. "She did."

Max didn't require more than a one or two word answer. Maybe that was why those were the only responses he ever gave. He'd learned to get by on the simplest of things. Mary knew he was not a neglected child; Brandi and Peter loved him and would move the earth for him, just as they would for Robyn. But, it had been far too easy for him to slip through the cracks. Mary suspected her sister had become used to the way her son was, and didn't consider there might be more for him to grab.

"What are you doing out here by yourself, bud?" Mary knew she'd have to ask sometime, and hoped it was easier when they didn't have to face each other. "You're not still worried about your mom, are you?"

Max shrugged from her front-side, and his carefree vibe turned distinctly somber, "I didn't want to mess things up for Norah and Robyn and Alice," he admitted. "I'm not very good at the stuff they like to do, and they don't want to play with me anyway…"

"They might, Max…" Mary urged, squeezing him a little tighter with the suggestion. "They might if you keep trying. It's hard to be different, man, but…"

"I'll never be like them," he actually interrupted, thoroughly stunning Mary. Suddenly, she wished she could see his face. "They're girls and I'm not."

"Max, you don't have to be a girl for them to like you…" she encouraged, trying not to make this sound obvious.

But, with this thought came another; her support tapered off as the proverbial light bulb flashed over her head. Max had to know being a boy was something special, not something abnormal. And she had suddenly remembered, with a painful jab, who had thought his being male had been most exciting of all.

"You know…" she began cagily, winding her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder, watching the sun sink still further behind the treetops. "There was a certain someone who thought you being a boy was pretty boss."

She knew Max understood the adjective when used in such context, and he almost turned to try and address her, "Really? Who?"

Mary exhaled, her shoulders slumping, her hands intertwining on Max's belly. It made her feel closer, more whole, to have him pressed against her – to feel his skin on hers. It made the revelation less hurtful.

"Jinx."

She felt Max's body sink inward in dejection, "But…Jinx isn't here anymore."

"It doesn't change the facts, pal," Mary powered onward, determined to get him to see; determined to have him mold out of his very isolated shell. "She was overjoyed that you were a boy. She ought to know – she was there when you were born."

Though Max didn't bite right away, Mary could tell by the way he sat up a little straighter that he was interested. He maneuvered himself a little further back, squinting through his glasses at the setting sun.

"She was?" he questioned cautiously. "She was there when Norah and Robyn and Alice were born too then…"

"Nope…" Mary wagged her head from side-to-side, shooting down the idea that he had been in good company. Her hands looked large and her fingers long in his tiny lap. "She was there for part of the time with all four of you. But _you_, my man, _you_ were the only one she got to see land," an emphasis just to seal the deal. "She probably saw you even before your mom did."

"Before my dad too?" Max posed, voice inching up in reluctant eagerness.

"Mmm…" Mary doubted that one. "Probably not," she conceded. "I would guess Jinx and your dad got the first glimpse together."

Max seemed partially gratified by this, but now he was anxious to hear more. Mary was surprised he'd never gotten a taste of this story, but Brandi had never been bigheaded about her experiences with childbirth. Two C-sections, one of them an emergency, didn't inspire a lot of late-night tales.

"Do you know what else happened?" he shifted sideways now, able to stare up at his aunt with curiosity. "When I came?"

Looking at him, Mary was struck by how strangely adult he looked for a six-year-old. She knew it was the suit and the glasses that were projecting such a thing, but it was still odd. Maybe it was the fact that he was finally talking that aided the image. It made him seem more capable.

"Most of what I know happened before you showed up," Mary tried to sound somewhat inviting, glad he was taking to this the way that she'd hoped. "But, I know you came insanely early in the morning – like at 5:30 – because that's when they wanted your mom at the hospital."

Max nodded, bidding for her to continue.

"Everybody actually stayed at our house the night before, because Marshall and I were going to watch Robyn," she detailed. "I guess she was about three."

"So, you didn't come?" he appeared disheartened. "To the hospital?"

Mary was glad he didn't have to stay depressed and forged on, "Well, that was the plan…" wiggling her fingers in his side, trying to get him to giggle. "But at the last minute I decided I was gonna go along – hang out in the waiting room until you made your big entrance. After the scare Robyn gave us, I didn't fancy being there when you came out screaming; no offense, bud."

Fortunately, he did laugh after the tickling, and Mary knew he'd been privy to specifications on Robyn's birth, so at least he understood. His giggle was stunning; it streamed lightness into the dimness they were fast-falling into. It reminded Mary there was still some tiny, miniscule bit of purity left in the world.

"Afraid I don't know too much more," she conceded once his mirthless shakes died down. "But, Jinx was the one who told me that you'd arrived – since your mom and dad were kind of busy."

"What'd she say?"

Mary closed her eyes, not really feeling the bitter cold anymore, although she knew her hands would be numb when they went back inside. She could see the grey couches in the waiting room. She could see the dated magazines on the coffee table. She could feel the itching tiredness behind her eyes that meant she'd been up way too early.

But, she saw something else as well. Something more tempting. Something reassuring. Something she needed this very minute.

"_Mary, honey!" came the shrill bellow of her over-enthusiastic mother._

_Mary leapt from the sofa, flinging her magazine to the side, all ears and alert. Who cared that it was just after six A.M. and she was going to have one cranky four-year-old when she got home? Marshall would deal with Norah. She had to deal with this._

"_Jesus, you were quick," the daughter couldn't resist voicing, wondering if this meant there was an anomaly of some kind. "How'd it go? The kid's not here already, right?"_

_It couldn't be possible that they got Brandi sliced open in that short span of time. Surely there was more prep time; more formalities. Jinx wasn't even wearing scrubs._

_But, her mother smiled broadly; so wide you could see all her teeth, "He sure is."_

_Mary didn't hear it at first. She had been ready to learn there'd be some sort of hitch; that they'd be here all afternoon yet; that she'd have to miss work. Brandi was going to be numb for the better part of the day. After Robyn, she didn't imagine her sister knew how to give birth without drama._

"_What'd you say?"_

_Jinx let out a joyous sigh, "Angel, he's here already!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands in front of her chest in her elation. "He! He! It's a boy!"_

"_What?!" Mary could not help her astonishment, unable to wrap her brain around the fact that they'd reached the finish line so quickly. "Damn, you got off easy!" she claimed. "You were in there thirty minutes! I was with her for twenty hours with Robyn!"_

"_Mary, you are impossible!" Jinx proclaimed, but she was still grinning cheekily. "Do you even listen? Our first boy!" she repeated, still at the top of her voice. "I thought sure we'd have another girl!"_

_Mary was beginning to get with it now; her mention of Robyn had brought the enormity of the situation to the forefront. She was running to get caught up, knowing it was about time she asked the most essential questions._

"_Is he okay?" she practically burst in her eagerness to get with the program. "He's healthy, and everything? What about Brandi?" she couldn't forget the hemorrhaging._

"_Brandi is happy as a clam. And he is…"_

_Jinx gave a girlish, far-away sigh of contentment, eyes straying from her oldest daughter to bask in the bliss of grandchild number three. _

"_He's gorgeous," she finally concluded. "Handsome does not begin to describe it. Oh, I'm so glad Brandi decided not to find out…" she must be referring to the sex. "It's so exciting with the surprise like this…"_

"_Norah and Robyn are gonna kick him around the rest of his life, you know that, right?" Mary quipped, but she kept the josh in her eyes to show Jinx she was teasing, at least partially._

"_Why, because he's _different_?" Jinx took on an affronted approach, but Mary could tell she was not really offended._

"_I'm not saying…"_

"_He's _unique_," Jinx insisted boldly, not even allowing Mary the opportunity to finish. "It makes him exceptional. My little Maxwell."_

"_Maxwell?" Mary snorted. "He selling coffee in the nursery?"_

"_Max," Jinx clarified. "They'll call him Max – with the X on the end just like his Grandma. He and I will be buddies."_

"_Well, that's better…"_

Her six-year-old was grinning now, so enriched by the thought that he and Jinx had something so special in common – just a letter on the end of their names. But, it made him exactly what Jinx had said he was, and Mary didn't hesitate to reiterate it.

"Unique, Max…" she whispered, clutching him still tighter, trying to bottle the moment, knowing it was fading fast and the real world was going to crash back down again very soon. "Unique, not different. That's what Jinx always said, and she was right."

Max nodded, blinking shyly beneath his glasses, validated and soothed by his aunt's thoughtful story. Mary wished she could say the same for herself, reflecting as she allowed her nephew to face the trees once more that Jinx had been hung up on Max from the beginning. There were no favorites; no preferences. Each grandchild was as special as the next, in their own wonderful ways.

Was there a reason she couldn't make the distinction with her mother and father, the way Jinx had for the kids?

"I really did like that song they sang this morning…" Max murmured, obviously hanging onto it. "I liked the end. How did it go again?"

Mary held him close, breathed him in, tried to capture the essence of his innocence. Nothing yet had helped to ease the ache of the guilt floating in her belly, and she feared she was running out of time. No Jinx, no James; no security; no promises.

"Which part?"

"The end," Max repeated. "What'd they say?"

"_You have to see him, Mary. You will adore him the minute you lay eyes on that beautiful face."_

She sighed the reply, "I love you so."

XXX

**A/N: I know there hasn't been any Mary/Marshall in the last two chapters, but I hope the next few will make up for it! Like I said, I worry that Max is too much like Jesse from the Sam series, but I do my best to make them different. I also still prefer my Max as a baby than as a six-year-old, but he is what he is LOL! **


	26. Chapter 26

**A/N: I don't know if this will be worth the wait – but I hope so!**

XXX

Mary was empty through dinner, the sound of the children enjoying their pizza just a distant buzz. Brandi seemed pretty quiet as well, but Mary made no effort to get her to open up. She was busy enough just trying to get rid of Marshall, whose haranguing had picked up another rung.

She knew it was because they hadn't seen much of each other during the day; he'd gotten caught up with the mourners while she'd been busy hiding in the back of the kitchen. He wanted to make up for lost time, unable to forget the subject they had nearly broached that morning – James, the letters, Jinx and her understanding, or lack thereof.

But, she was basically a zombie anymore; tuned out and anywhere but earth. She'd healed the kids and their wounds, even Max's. Brandi was coming around, despite her subdued nature. She'd made nice with people she'd long since wished to forget. So, why couldn't she fix herself? Why couldn't she just tell herself, even if it was a lie, that whatever she felt for her father made no difference? That Jinx's opinion about the whole thing, good or bad, was immaterial anymore?

Because she couldn't. She just couldn't. There was no answer, and that was something Mary hated more than ever.

After Peter and Brandi finally left with Robyn and Max, she retreated to the bedroom to change out of her funeral outfit, the heels beginning to cut into her feet. It was something of a simple pleasure to remove the skirt and feminine sweater and replace them with her baggy drawstring pants and jacket that zipped up the middle. However, she didn't expect to see the house _completely_ devoid of children when she reemerged, only Marshall sitting at the island.

Thinking she'd finally lost it, she inquired from halfway across the room, "Where are the girls?"

Marshall raised his eyes to find her somewhat open-mouthed and disoriented, like she'd stepped into some otherworld – changed her surroundings along with her clothes.

"Well, you asked Mark if he'd take Norah tonight," he reminded her. "You remember?"

"Yeah, I remember that…" Mary assured him, exerting no energy to step any closer, keeping her distance. "But, what about Alice?"

Marshall wiped his mouth on his napkin as he finished the last of his pizza. Mary could see that he was preparing for an event that might have an adverse effect on Mary's attitude.

"When she saw that Norah was going with Mark, she asked if she could go too," he explained warily. "I queried if she was sure, but she seemed all a twitter about the idea. I think she wanted to stay with her sister," he adopted a softer approach, trying to butter his wife up. "They were pretty sweet today."

The image of them huddled together in the pew, clinging to each other, flashed through Mary's mind. Instead of thawing her out, it just made her miserable when she stopped and thought about it. She was done in – exhausted. A decision that had been made without her consent – something that should've made her angry – simply washed over the surface and faded, seemingly of no importance. She didn't care anymore.

"Is that okay?" Marshall probed when she didn't say anything or move any closer. "I thought it would give us a nice, quiet night," he presented vigilantly. "He said he'd take them for pancakes tomorrow morning before they go back to school."

Pancakes sounded good to Mary. Warm, buttery, with syrup oozing over the sides; the dough flaky and moist in her mouth. She suddenly wished she were going too. Deep down, she knew she yearned for such a thing because it meant she'd be somewhere other than here.

"Yeah, it's fine."

Marshall nodded slowly, "Okay."

He set his plate aside, eyeing her in that mystical way that made Mary feel like he must be seeing all her insides. He seemed so far away from where she was rooted to the spot in the living room.

"Why don't you come sit with me a bit?" he kicked out the extra barstool as an indicator. "Try to relax."

Did he honestly think she expected him to _let_ her relax? She knew him far too well to be fooled by such an offer. He was going to hassle her; run through the day; run through her emotions; every little facet, every little detail. She wasn't up for it. She knew she was going to make him crazy with the way she withheld, but he'd known what he was getting in this deal. He knew what he'd married.

"You know I'm…" she rubbed the back of her neck and rolled her head on her shoulders; she was stiff all over. "I think I may go lie down for a bit. I've got a headache…"

Well, she wasn't lying. All of her ached. And surely Marshall, of all people, would not say no to her doing something as sensible as taking a load off – with or without him.

"Can I get you something?" he brought up, not about to waste his gentlemanly skills. "Would you like me to come with you?"

It was kind of him to ask instead of demand, but he was practically begging anyway. Mary simply shook her head and tried to feed him a loveable, warm smile, but knew it was half-hearted at best.

"I won't be long," she promised. "I still have some of that pizza to finish. I just need the dark for awhile."

It was that word; 'need' that captured Marshall's interest. He was forever asking Mary what she needed, and here she was telling him – point-blank. He didn't agree, after so many days of letting her run as far as possible, but figured he could wait a little longer. He would put his foot down eventually. He would make her talk. The day of Jinx's funeral wasn't the best time.

"I'll come check on you in a bit?" he ventured.

Fortunately, this earned him a resigned, but nonetheless comforted nod and she retreated as soon as she was given the leeway. Marshall watched her shuffle on, never once doubting his adoration for her in spite of how she made his blood pressure spike on occasion.

Back in the bedroom, Mary considered unearthing her own collection of letters from her closet – comparing them with the ones James had written to Jinx. Even at the onset of the thought, she knew it was absurd. How was she going to get over this asinine longing and obsession if she kept feeding it? It was time to forget James. It was time to forget what Jinx had or hadn't thought. Neither one of them were there to confirm either way. It was pointless and petty and stupid.

Therefore, she left the letters where they belonged and flopped down her mattress. Even though she'd told Marshall she wanted it shadowy, she left the bedside lamp on. Lying there, staring at the wall, she reflected how bizarre it suddenly was to have the house empty. They weren't just lacking the guests, but now the kids. She couldn't remember the last time she'd spent a night in this house without at least one of the girls, particularly Alice. It made her uncomfortable and unsettled, whatever she told Marshall.

Mary sat there so long, trying to forget the dominating fears circling in her brain that her eyes began to ease shut. She chastised herself, wrenching awake every few minutes to repeat that it was barely 7:30. She could not go to sleep. Who was she anymore?

But, the events of the day took their toll; the softness of the bed and the need to escape overtook her dilapidated form. It was too much, and she was carried quite swiftly into darkness.

"_We need an ambulance…"_

_The blood was dark red; deeper than crimson and brighter than the early morning sun. It was staining her hands. She didn't know how she'd ever wash it off._

"_What the hell are you doing here, Shannon?"_

"_Get a Goddamn ambulance!"_

_Her voice was so needy it surprised even her. She sounded more desperate than she had in ages. This wasn't about her job or her career or her future. This was about her daddy, who was slowly withering away, right here in her arms._

"…_You had a suitcase with flowers…"_

_Mary pulled his hands apart so they would not be crunched against his chest in the handcuffs. She groaned and felt the droplets of blood trickle down her wrists._

"_We never did…get to take that trip…"_

_She was weeping freely; she did not even care who could see. She was terrified. She was terrified that this man she had spent her entire life waiting for was leaving her again. He couldn't go. He'd just gotten here._

"_It's okay, daddy. I'm here with you now, okay?"_

_She wanted, desperately, for him to feel safe. She had to show him she could live up to his expectations. He had promised her that if she'd worn her necklace and kept her chin up she could protect everyone. She'd lost the necklace, and that was why he was falling apart; shattered to pieces and bleeding to death in her arms._

"_I'm not going anywhere…"_

_As quickly as it had come, the desert and dirt-ridden ground spun in a cloud of smoke and was gone, despite what Mary had said to James. She was spinning round-and-round through nothing but grayness; nothing but black. She didn't know where she was going and kept her hands clutched together, trying fruitlessly to drag James into a future where he no longer belonged._

"_Jinx is dead!"_

"_What?!"_

_There was Mark. He looked worried – distraught, actually. Why was he here? What had he done with James? And what about Marshall, hadn't he been there too?_

"_Her liver failed!"_

_Once again, her voice took on that same relentlessly distressed quality. Why didn't anyone see how horrific this all was? She wanted to grab Mark; wanted to make him really understand this unbearable pain instead of simply having that sympathetic look on his face. _

"_I need Jinx…"_

_And she was sick. She was sick and she was hot and she was going to throw up and Jinx wasn't there. She couldn't wipe her face or dry her tears. She couldn't bring her soup or make her drink out of a glass with a straw. Who was going to do that now that she had no mother?_

"_Because you're sick?"_

_Yes! Yes-yes-yes! Why was he even asking? Shouldn't Mark know that?_

_There was no time to ask. He vanished just as her father had, leaving the living room and the bleak outdoors behind. Mary couldn't feel her feet underneath her. She was floating aimlessly; no left, no right, no forward or back. If Jinx or James were there, they would pull her back. They would make sure she stayed out of harm's way._

"_You are such a colossal bitch! It is no wonder you have no friends!"_

_The pain was palpable. Mary could see Jinx standing there; furious and red-faced in her old pink sweater. That feeling of self-defense was still rattling through Mary's limbs; she'd been through a lot in the last twenty-four hours._

_Brandi just sat there crying while she tried to process what her mother had just uttered. She didn't really think that. She was drunk. She was worried. She was half-out-of-her-mind. Was Mary really that bad-bad girl everybody said she was?_

_Her eye caught the papers strewn all over the coffee table, and one sentence in particular sent a hurtful, too-hot warmth rushing through her chest. It almost choked her, but she swallowed hard; willing it to stay trapped where she could hang on._

"_Stay sweet and kind and warm…"_

_No, she was not bad. James had said so. If he were here, he would tell her._

_If he were here._

_The bits and pieces swirled faster now. There was no time to touch them; no time to watch. They just piled onto her psyche; confusing her, making her jump and reach to cling for nothing that was allowing her to grasp._

"_My little girl is finally getting everything she ever wanted…"_

"_Everything that you became, through nothing that I gave you…"_

"_I couldn't fit into this pretty world; it's not for me…"_

"_Monkey bars at the playground on Fairview…"_

"_You are addicted to this identity – this little girl…"_

"_It's the medal of Mary…"_

"_Abandoned by her father…"_

"_Your blessed mother. You wear it…"_

"_Until you let that go, you will never let anyone in…!"_

"_You keep everyone safe."_

Mary woke in tears. They were just streaming down her face, behind eyes that were still pinched shut from having gone under unintentionally. She was a wreck; she couldn't stop them for anything, and she wasn't even trying. Her face was burning; her cheeks were soaking and so was her pillow. She was making those God awful noises Brandi had made all week. She knew she could not have been asleep very long, but it was long enough.

And she knew, without doubt, that she was through. There was no more hiding. She was already too far gone and too confused to bury herself any deeper. The uncontrollable sobs proved that it was over. The guilt had eaten her alive. She'd lost.

Slowly, and still leaking, she got off the bed and stumbled her way across the room. She opened the door with a hand that didn't even seem to be her own. It was darker in the hallway, but she could tell the light in the kitchen was still on. And the further she walked; she saw exactly what she was looking for.

Marshall was right where she'd left him. He was sitting at the island, scribbling on a piece of paper. It wasn't relief that flooded her body, but that desperation; so substantial in her dreams. But, seeing him so solidly present just made her cry harder. Why did he put up with her when she was like this? The tears flowed.

"Marshall?"

It came out croaky and pathetic, but it got the job done. He glanced up and saw her standing there, his blue eyes perfectly neutral. He couldn't quite tell, in the dark of the living room, what had driven her out here.

"Yeah?"

Hanging on wasn't working. Mary sniveled and sniffled and those unsightly sounds escaped out her mouth; escaped as more wetness. She put up a hand to quench them, but knew it wouldn't make any difference. The suffering eked out around the edges of her fingers; it sounded loud in the otherwise empty house.

"Mary?"

She couldn't move. Here, in front of the coffee table, was far enough. He'd come to her.

He did. He was speedy and efficient, abandoning his dinner and his notes. The steps were quick, but not critical. He was ready.

He was in front of her faster than Mary could blink, and her vision was too clouded for her to be able to see anyway. He loomed above her; a long, lofty body. A soaring form of a sanctuary she'd spent a week resisting.

"Mary…" it was no longer a question; it was exact and grave. He extended a hand and curled his fingers around her wrist, carefully pulling the shield apart from her lips. He could see her quivering underneath; could see the tears flooding a face that was nothing short of devastated. "What is it?" the tone was soft. "Tell me now."

The demand was less than an order and more than a request. Mary recognized it, somewhere in the depths of her submerged brain. It was a plea without the imploring.

"Mare, it's time…" he guided her on, holding that hand he'd removed, caressing the fingers. "It's time; let it go…" never once raising his level; always steady, but resolute.

She just stood there, heaving against the gate that was her heart; her breaths were cascading and crashing against the bars. There was a willingness to break through; a need; a desire, if only she could release the key. She was trapped. She was suffocating. She wanted out if only someone would unbolt the lock. The fence was splintering with the force of her injuries.

And then, with his piercing, sky blue eyes – the compressing of her hand.

"Come on, love."

The gate burst. The dam released. The flood surged forth.

"I really…" speaking was overcome with the power of giving in, and the flood of water on her cheeks made her unintelligible.

The need to try again overpowered the hurt, "I really wish my dad were here…"

The runoff of emotions was exhilarating and terrifying all at once at finally having it out. But, Mary was too muzzy to recognize every single one. The tears were pouring from her eyes; she could barely talk. But Marshall, God love him, sighed and expressed the relief she couldn't.

It was not an exhale of exasperation, but of understanding – of recognition. Of intuition.

One word amidst the breath, "Yeah," and a hand on her shoulder.

He knew. He always knew.

"I just keep thinking about the way this was supposed to work, the way it's supposed to happen…" her urgency made the words stumble over one another, but on she went. "One parent dies and the other is there to help, to take care of everything, to be the…the adult…"

Mary gulped hard and fast, and saw that Marshall was merely nodding. He looked sad, but he just rubbed her shoulder and let her spill.

"When daddy died I had to do it all, because Jinx and Brandi weren't here…" she recalled miserably, somewhat surprised in her stupor that she managed to pull it from her past. "And now with Jinx…"

She had to stop to make way for some more of those revolting blubbering sounds. Her nose was running down her face. She felt like Alice must when she had a tantrum.

"He should be here; he should be the one getting me through…" she wanted to sound certain, but her condition prevented it. "If he were a normal father he would be; if he hadn't run off; if he hadn't gotten himself killed while I had to stand there and watch…"

Marshall finally found it buried within his calmness to speak, and it was with complete awe, "God Mare, how on earth did you keep this in?"

She barely heard him, but it wasn't staying in much longer. It was spewing all over everything; it was messy and it was hideous and she wasn't even done yet.

Ignoring Marshall's brand of admiration, "Jinx would hate me…"

He came to faster, determined not to let that one slide, "What?" her husband didn't wait for clarification. "No-no…"

His hand floated off her shoulder to hover in front of her tearstained face; a gesture to halt her assumptions, but now that she'd started there was no stopping. He'd wanted her to open up. This was as open as she would ever be.

"What would she have thought if she knew how much I wanted him here?" it was strident and penetrating disbelief. "And, I don't even really _want_ him! I want…I want…"

The droplets dribbled down her face when the phrase tapered away. It was more than hysteria now. It was sadness; wretched gloom and the awful hole in the middle of Mary's heart. She ended the prayer, knowing to say it would make no difference. But Marshall, in his infinite wisdom, pushed her the rest of the way.

Staring directly down into her watery green eyes, "What do you want?"

He didn't have to ask. As had already been discovered, he knew. But Mary couldn't bring herself to say the name any more. Giving in the last time meant she threw it all to the wolves.

And as the tears ran, "My mom."

The trembling tone carried her – shoved her – into Marshall's waiting arms. She collapsed hard against his chest, burying her face against his shirt. The sobs, to him, must've been magnified and muffled all at once; dampened in the fabric of the tie she'd secured for him that morning. She cried ugly; she sobbed without tact; she bawled until she thought she wouldn't be able to breathe anymore. She wasn't Mary Shannon with the tortured past. She was Mary Shannon – the little girl who wanted her mother.

And all the while, Marshall held her tight and rubbed neat, gentle circles on her back. He kissed her hair several times, letting her pour it all out. When she finally quieted even marginally, he started reeling in the hope.

"You want a _parent_…" he emphasized in that intelligent, brilliant way of his, still unable to see her face. "You want someone who is in charge, in control, and there to kiss you goodnight and make it all better when it hurts."

Mary did. That was exactly what she wanted.

"Losing Jinx has turned James into one of those dads who is just a dad," he continued to rationalize from above. "He was the only father you had, and while you may think you're idealizing him, you're creating him as well."

Had he been saving the speech for just this moment?

"You're creating the image of a father that is there to step in for his daughter when she suffers a loss and a tragedy," he explained further. And then, "There is _nothing_ – absolutely _nothing_ – odd or strange about desiring something like that. And there is _nothing_ wrong with it."

The way he punctuated 'nothing' almost made Mary believe it, but he wasn't quite through.

"It does not matter that James is what you want," he concluded soundly. "In the end, it's the father that you want – or the mother. It's the parent. The parent you lost or else the parent you never had."

Mary was too busy seeping in his strength to really listen to everything Marshall was saying, but a small portion of her clarity was starting to come back. Right or wrong, it was over now. Somebody besides her knew of the agony she'd been inflicting upon herself, and there was maybe a way out. Slowly, she lifted her head a fraction of an inch so it rested on Marshall's ribcage, her eyes peeking through the gap in his arm to see the outside world.

"I was so proud of Jinx…"

She reverberated in a bizarre warble with the cottony feeling in her throat.

"…For getting it together…"

"Of course you were," Marshall assumed, kissing the top of her head in reassurance. "I was too."

"I never told her…"

The moisture threatened to return; her eyes burned and stung from everything expelled thus far. Her nose started to run again.

"How could I have never said anything – after all those times she said she was proud of me?" she could see the teardrops soaking Marshall's shirt, running in rivulets around the buttons. He was so strong when he held her close. "…Said she was proud of the kids?"

Marshall contemplated only for a moment, clearly just reveling in the fact that he was able to embrace his wife and help her when she needed it the most. Mary was fully encircled within his arms; a total cocoon to shield her from whatever harm might come their way.

"Mary…" he whispered. "Sometimes it's what you do and not what you say."

Hadn't he mentioned something similar that very morning?

"And, I've seen _plenty_," he accentuated for effect, still not letting her go. "_Plenty_ that told both me and her you were ecstatic about how far she came."

Mary wanted to ask for an example, but she was too tired; too worn-out from putting everything on the line. She felt like there was some sort of new dawn approaching on the horizon. It was hazy and cloudy right now, but the sun might inch over the mountains if she gave it long enough.

"You think so?"

It was a childish confirmation that slipped from Mary's lips.

"I really do," he finished. "See, I knew this churlish, surly girl once…"

A lightness and ease slipped into the room as though on wings; as though Marshall's voice had carried them there by the most miniscule, petite bird. They snuck in without warning, bringing a breeze and comfort that help might be on its way.

"She liked to _tell_ me she thought I was obnoxious and tiresome – and too intellectual for my own good…"

Mary would've smiled if she'd remembered how.

"But, that same surly girl also liked to _show_ me a lot more than ever came out her mouth…"

He stroked her hair tenderly while the tears began to dry on her lids; to linger for another day.

"She showed me she could fight to the death. She showed me she could save my life. She showed me she trusted me with the stars, the sun, the moon, and her children…"

Interjection, back to reality, "I love you Marshall."

The most effortless, magnificent giggle.

"And I adore you, my surly girl."

XXX

**A/N: Well, one way or another I enjoy writing emotional scenes between Mary and Marshall, and now she's on her way to recovery. ;) **


	27. Chapter 27

**A/N: This chapter is a bit longer, I confess, but since it is Mary/Marshall centric I hope you will enjoy it!**

XXX

Mary's head felt heavy when she faced the next day from a bed that seemed to be consuming her beaten form. She didn't want to lift any of her limbs, or even open her eyes. Shut away like this was perfect; there was a sense lingering somewhere unattainable that something extraordinary waited on the other side. But, to grab too soon would ruin everything. It was more important to stay here, halfway in-between, not running at the first sign of the alarm.

Mary could not say why she felt as such, especially with her thoughts feeling so murky and misty. Her eyes, regardless of the fact that they'd been closed all night, were weighty and they itched with irritation. They had been put through the wringer the evening before.

Shifting onto the side that faced the window, Mary noticed at once that the opposite end of the bed was cold and empty. She could feel the draft left by the open covers; recoiled her feet when they hit bare sheets. Now, she had no reason to anticipate anything incredible – not with Marshall gone. She reluctantly eased her lids open and was met with a harsh and blinding sunshine; penetrating the white net curtains with their brilliant rays. Mary squinted and shielded her eyes with her hand. While she did so, she tried to remember last night.

After unloading everything onto Marshall, he'd kept her awake for a little while, but had actually been more interested in her getting a good night's sleep. He had appeased her for a bit; answering her pleas with patience and understanding. But, one episode of baring your soul was enough. He intended to leave the extras and the details for a more rational day, and had succeeded in allowing her to drift off.

But, where was he now? Mary wondered. The clock said it was almost eight, and with a lurch she remembered the girls. It was almost time for school. They would be late, unless Marshall had already taken them. Had he gone to work and left her?

It was a higher power that showed Mary she was unwise for even thinking such a thing. Just as the idea entered her mind, her closed bedroom door inched open and there he was. Her husband; her mate; her partner. Her boy. He was such a good boy.

"Hey sleepy…" he crooned in greeting, like he was talking to Norah or Alice. "I wasn't sure if you had come around yet. I was going to let you have a bit of a lie-in if you so desired."

Marshall meandered over to the bed, and Mary saw from her half-reclined position that he most definitely had not been to the office – or was planning to be, from the look of him. He was wearing jeans and a thermal shirt of dark red with three buttons at the collar.

"I thought you'd gone to work…" she insinuated throatily, her voice deep from having just been under. "You have a lot to catch up on, don't you?"

"Ah…" Marshall waved an unconcerned hand, settling himself against the headboard. Mary shimmied upward to face him while he continued, "I decided we could both play hooky. Delia and Charlie are getting quite accomplished at picking up the slack. Plus, Stan said he'd help out for a few more days."

Mary was startled, "A few more days?" she repeated. "Washington isn't falling apart without him? He's been here almost a week."

"When you're the boss, you make your own rules," Marshall insisted casually. "Like yours truly."

Mary could see from his tone that he intended to leave at it that, but she still found it strange. Stan and Lia could usually only make it out once a year, and usually in the summer. This impromptu trip in the middle of February had been strange in more ways than one, especially now that it was elongated.

"How'd you sleep?" her man continued. "No problems, I trust. I was not informed of any tossing and turning."

Mary shrugged as he began to twirl a strand of her rumpled hair, "It was fine," she was truthful. "Weird dreams, though…"

"Not 'weird' as in 'frightening,' I hope," narrowing of his eyebrows.

"Not this time," she claimed. "Just strange. I don't even remember most of them now."

"It sounds to me like your brain is getting back into circulation," Marshall speculated in his best professor voice. "The gears are spinning the right way again – at least in part."

"I suppose…" Mary mused in a low voice, becoming spacey with the gentle turns he was doing of her waves. "None of this still feels very good."

She allowed her jade, downcast eyes to meet his sprightly blue ones, and he did not seem discouraged. On the contrary, he seemed boosted. She ought to have known her outburst would make at least one of them feel better.

"I would imagine it won't for awhile," Marshall forfeited bleakly. "It's the way of the world, Mare. I know patience is not your strong suit, but it does take time. You keep talking…" a significant glance her direction. "Keep it in flow. The grieving will come a lot easier."

Mary wondered if she would ever believe that, if she would ever put any stock in what she'd done the night before. Right now, it felt hazy and slightly humiliating, even if it was only Marshall. And, despite his theory that everything would come up roses because she'd shared, she couldn't be certain it was true. That hollow feeling was still very prominent in the pit of her stomach.

Nonetheless, she felt more comfortable avoiding a testy subject this morning after she'd given so much the night before, and strove a different direction.

"Did you take the girls to school already and I missed it?" she wanted to know. "Or are they playing hooky too?"

Marshall shook his head, "Mark has them, remember?" he refreshed tolerantly. "I would imagine they are finishing up their pancakes at IHOP and are headed to enhance their education as we speak."

Mary did recall, now that Marshall had jogged her memory. The same odd sensation from the night before took over in that she wished she were joining Norah and Alice. The thought of pancakes was still so homey and inviting, especially on a day devoted to rest.

"We should probably get something to eat too…" was her way of expressing this. "You know my stomach growling ain't pretty."

Marshall chuckled and agreed, commencing with his wife in leaving the bed. He was fully dressed and ready to head out to the kitchen, so he just waited while Mary unearthed her slippers and threw on the jacket she'd been wearing last night, so as not to become cold. She was thinking as she did all this that maybe she'd try one of Alice's strawberry pop-tarts. She knew they were nasty and would probably forbid Marshall to buy them, but why not live dangerously?

"You know…" Mary vocalized, taking Marshall's hand at the door so that they walked down the hall together. It was a slow jaunt, "I have to admit I'm kind of jealous the girls got pancakes…"

"Are you, now?" he progressed even more leisurely, pressing Mary into his side so they bumped into one another halfway down.

"Come on…" she joked. "You think I would turn down a big old stack of flapjacks on this frigid morning? You really do not know me at…"

She stopped at the look of smugness and superiority on Marshall's face, which also held a crafty smirk. She knew they'd arrived in the living room, and she'd halted at the sight of his normally sensitive features looking so wily. But, she couldn't audibly say why it was throwing her off.

"What…?" it came out as the tiniest whisper, something even less than feeble.

But, as she was questioning, she turned her head toward the kitchen and was met with the most miraculous vista. It really was the little things.

With a girlish gasp, she laid eyes on a stack of pancakes in the center of the island, dripping syrup and melting butter all over the plates. Nearby, there was a pan of scrambled eggs and with the whiff of those came the scent of bacon. Two tall glasses of orange juice accompanied the smorgasbord. Mary couldn't believe her eyes, nor could she stop the inane glee that ran out her mouth.

"You made me _pancakes_!"

She sounded about five. Marshall laughed, undoubtedly at the sight of her; cheeks flushed in her excitement, eyes no longer droopy but vibrant. You'd have thought he'd handed her the diamond rings most girls wished for. Not his Mary.

"And bacon and eggs," he couldn't resist pointing out before they ventured forth to dig in.

Mary was still far too caught up in the surprise and his intuition to note that there was more, "Why…why did you make me pancakes?" she turned to face him with giddy disbelief. "You _cooked_. When we have enough food to fill six refrigerators from all those people yesterday!"

Marshall simply grinned and shook his head. Instinctively, he reached out and stroked her cheek with his index finger. She was radiant and gorgeous – all over pancakes. There was only one reason he'd done it, and it might not hold any merit with Mary, but it was everything to him.

In a whisper, "I've sure missed your smile."

To his utter delight, Mary did not scoff or roll her eyes. She threw her arms around his neck and planted a very wet kiss on his lips, fingering the bristling hair above his collar. Astonishingly, Marshall actually thought he felt a gaggle of wetness mingling on her reddened cheeks, but resolved not to say anything. Happy – at the very least, touched – tears were something he could handle.

When she emerged, hanging her arms on his shoulders, she was shining through her enchantment.

"What do you say I just eat _you_ for breakfast?" she asked slyly.

Marshall wagged an admonishing finger, "Now-now…" he droned sternly. "We would not want all my sustenance to go to waste. You need your nourishment, after all."

"Yeah, you're probably right…" Mary gave up the ghost quickly, sliding out of his grasp. "Chances are, the pancakes taste a lot better than you would."

Marshall watched her saunter away in her sweats, and thought she might be headed straight for the island, but there was really no room to eat there with the dishes of food. She was moving slowly and perusing her options, and so Marshall acted on impulse. He snuck up behind her and snatched her around the waist, which prompted a short-lived shriek.

"Jesus!" Mary exclaimed through her laughter. "What the hell are you doing, lanky?"

But before he could explain, he'd already hoisted her into his arms like a sack of potatoes and plunked her atop the outside counter, her legs dangling toward the ground. She rested her head on the cabinets to her left and eyed him coyly.

"Am I in time-out or something?" she wanted to know. "Seriously, I feel like one of the kids. Any minute now you'll start slapping band-aids on my knees."

Marshall just shrugged, "No room at the island."

"We have a table," Mary reminded him, as though he were stupid.

"Mmm…I like you up here…" he declared deviously, slinking ever-closer to her perched figure. "Where I can _touch_ you…"

And he bestowed her with a kiss of his own, sliding his lips onto her cheek; one press and then two. From her ear to her hair, and out of the corner of his eye, Marshall saw her grinning again. Mary allowed him to linger momentarily, running paths on her skin, before she pushed him lightly back. She was getting hungry, after all.

"If I'm gonna be sitting over here, you better get me a plate…" she teased. "Pronto."

He gave a hokey mock-bow, "At your service, my lady."

Mary did roll her eyes this time, and was content to simply watch her husband. He piled two pancakes on a dish, a whole scoop of scrambled eggs, and three slices of bacon. It was heaped; something on top of something else; a tower of breakfast goodness. He even picked up her orange juice and delivered her the entire lot, which she soon realized she was going to have to hold in her lap.

"You should take up a part-time job as a waiter," she quipped. "In case the Marshal thing doesn't work out."

She speared her pancake and took an enormous bite while Marshall gathered his food and he returned to stand in front of her. They were eye-to-eye, face-to-face. Even as she gobbled her bounty, Mary reflected that Marshall had been right. It was nice to stand so near to one another like this. It was easier to steal off his plate too.

Munching casually, Marshall stirred his syrup and took a small leap to break the silence, "I was thinking about something you said to me last night."

Mary tried not to sigh or act aggravated right away. While she hardly wanted to spoil this tiny bit of paradise she'd fallen into, she also knew it was better to have even part of this conversation when she felt up to it. Trying to hash out the hard stuff when she was already low was never favorable.

"What something?" she concentrated on the sunny yellowness of her scrambled eggs.

"Well…" she could hear his fork clinking on his plate even though she wouldn't look up. "While I think it is wholly acceptable for you to field the 'what-if's' when it comes to Jinx, I do find it improbable you never said _something_ that indicated you appreciated all her efforts." Mary contemplated that spectacular run-on as Marshall paused to take a breath and finished, "Although, I am still a firm believer that actions speak louder than words."

Mary pondered, chewing both literally and figuratively. It wasn't as though she hadn't spent enough time wracking her brain about the things she'd said to Jinx and why. But, she had rarely done so with a clear head.

"Well, I mean I said stuff close to it…" she eventually conceded. "I mean, sort of. Just not the actual words and that isn't the same."

"What qualifies as 'close to it?'" Marshall burrowed slightly deeper, his timbre sedate with inquisitiveness.

"I don't know…" Mary shrugged, and when she could stare at her eggs and bacon no longer, she flicked her eyes to his. He just stood there waiting; no rush, not an ounce of hurry in a single line of his features. "Like…" the exhale that escaped was a little dramatic. "Do you remember Mia?"

"Ah, yes…" Marshall nodded his comprehension. "The witness on a pedestal – your one and only acquaintance from the program. Nice gal."

"Whatever…" Mary scowled at his apparent dominance in this area. "Well, I remember when I found out she was sick, and Jinx was kind of…" she paused, thinking it was wrong to insult her mother when she was dead now, after everything else she was feeling shameful about. She took up the phrase as kindly as possible, "She was having one of her little pity parties and I was irritated…"

"Uh-huh…" Marshall urged, taking a bite of his bacon.

"And I told her she should feel proud of herself."

It was Marshall's turn to halt, with half his bacon ground up, no less. The fork was hanging slack in his fingers, eyes darting left-to-right. He obviously did not grasp how Mary could've been making herself so crazy when she was able to pull a memory such as this right into the conversation.

"Well, see there…" he declared, as though it were all so simple. "Think how good that must've made her feel…"

"But, Marshall…" Mary set her utensil down, feeding him earnest eyes; eyes that so clearly said she was at fault. "I told her she should be proud of _herself_ – I didn't say_ I_ was proud of her. She could sing her own praises, but I wasn't going to. There's a difference…"

"Mary," her husband dictated sharply, his blue orbs turning steely in their seriousness. "While I am aware of how cantankerous you can sometimes be, I highly doubt you tacked that on the end," he didn't buy it in the least.

"Maybe not…" she said quietly. "But, I still didn't say it the way it needed to be said. Not then – not ever."

Marshall was marginally disappointed she was so set on downplaying her role in Jinx's life, but he was far from finished. He'd known there a lot to wade through; that he was unlikely to have convinced Mary of her worth as a daughter in the first five minutes. Taking a sip of his orange juice and watching her poke at her food, he tried his original tactic.

"Then lets return to my first thought…" he suggested. "Actions speak louder than words," repeating the old adage. "I can testify on this one; there were scads of things you did that proved you had faith in Jinx – that you trusted her, which is enormous. Maybe even better than pride."

"Yeah?" Mary snorted unintentionally loudly. "How do you figure?"

He wasn't going to take the sarcasm; he was being serious, and she would too. To prove it, he yanked her fork out of her fingers so she couldn't evade his questions. It was likely he might get an earful, but he was prepared.

"Marshall, you are messing with more than your life when you screw with my food!" she lunged from the counter to retrieve the fork, but he held it at arm's length. "Give it back."

"I need you to listen," he declared forcefully. "I listened when you said you weren't ready, but if you're ready now, then act like it."

Mary didn't consider this pressuring; it was a healthy necessity, and she had made him wait a very long time. It was true she could find plenty to occupy herself with when she didn't wish to have a discussion of feelings. Still, she didn't hesitate to bequeath the kitchen with an annoyed grunt, scowling and crossing her arms.

"Go on."

Marshall toyed with the idea of teasing her further, because she looked so comical being grumpy and surly, but thought better of it. He held onto her fork for the time being, and stepped closer, running a hand up and down her leg. She kept her chin elevated and stared up at him like he had the answer to every quandary in the world.

"Think back to when you first had Norah…" he encouraged affectionately, that hand roving of its own accord. "Jinx had only been sober…what? A year?"

"Something like that…" Mary worked to keep her face dark. "What's your point?"

"You trusted her with your _child_, Mary," the emphasis was impossible to miss. "Your firstborn – the child you initially did not even trust to yourself. You don't think that says something?"

Mary wished he would quit trailing his fingers all over her thigh. It made it nearly impossible to think.

"It says I was a new mother that was half-out-of-my-mind and needed someone to show me the ropes…" it was making it sound like nothing that was tricky. "Since _you_ were all tied up with Nancy Drew," she added spitefully.

"You can downplay it all you want," Marshall shook his head, ignoring the jab on Abigail. "But, nobody who truly loves their child leaves them with someone they don't have complete conviction within."

He was so firm that Mary, who had only thought this might have minimal clout, actually started tuning in. She had never considered the possibility that Marshall was laying out on the table – that if she hadn't honestly trusted Jinx, she wouldn't have left Norah or any of the other kids in her care.

"Your time and your job be damned; you could hardly stand to let Norah out of your sight when she was a baby," now that he'd brought it up, Mary recalled. She'd been hyper-protective of her eldest; afraid the smallest, most miniscule things would bring her harm. "You wouldn't _let_ Jinx stay with her unless the baby monitor had fresh batteries!"

Mary didn't want to give him satisfaction right away, and she wasn't entirely sold anyway. Her position at WITSEC had been very coveted in those days; there was still a part of her that believed she'd used Jinx as a last resort when she'd slowly started weaning her back into that more responsible fold.

"You're going somewhere with this, right?" she snarked. "I'd like to hear where so I can eat the rest of this breakfast you generously made for me."

She thought she saw a flicker of a smile on Marshall's face at hearing her so quick to respond with the punches, but he held fast. He knew his wife. She was weakening in the most positive of ways.

"Trust may not be the same thing as pride," you had to concede at least once when it came to Mary, and he'd just done so. The blueness was at its very deepest now; drinking her in like a vast, cosmic ocean. "But you cannot lie to me and say that you didn't at least have confidence in Jinx, and that is pretty damn close."

Mary knew she was listening raptly enough that her face had transformed from its normal sour mug into one that was both impressed and intensely saddened. While her dilemma wasn't completely fixed – especially when you considered James – there was optimism floating in the surrounding air. The sadness came from knowing that, despite Marshall's ability to ease her doubts, it didn't change anything. Jinx was still gone.

She blinked at him and the confession came in a whisper, "I miss her, Marshall."

He nodded at once, dropping the formalities, shedding his persona as a schoolteacher and leaned to kiss her forehead. Mary didn't miss that he dropped the fork on her plate in the process.

"I know," his face was empathetic when he surfaced. "It's a marathon to get to the finish line; no two ways about it."

"I'm just…" she resumed eating now that she was free to do so, and could talk at the same time. "I think about all those times I was pissed at Jinx for no reason at all; when I didn't want her to come over or help out or anything. Is it even fair that I miss her when I never would've said that when she was alive?"

Marshall didn't answer right away, and instead indulged in a few more bites of pancake. With the hot breakfast, the thermal shirt, and the sprinkling of snow in the background, Mary thought he looked like something out of a corny-ass holiday movie. But, she also knew how seriously he was considering what she'd asked, and she loved him for that.

"Don't misconstrue what I'm about to say…" he began, a little bit of a surprise to Mary, swinging her feet and kicking them into the cabinets below. "I thought Jinx was fantastic. She was friendly and affectionate, and she was insanely in love with those kids…"

"Marshall," Mary interrupted, eyeing him in that expert way of hers. "Dispense with the preamble. I know you and Jinx were tight. What are you getting at?"

It was obvious he was still reluctant. Mary could tell by the way he swirled his syrup without eating anymore and prodded the remains of his bacon. It wasn't often Marshall avoided, but it seemed he'd picked up a thing or two from his former partner.

"I think you're maybe idealizing Jinx a little bit…" it was a careful venture. "I do not find it all that uncommon – it happens a lot with death; we envision the best of people. Honestly, that's the way it should be sometimes. We should all be so lucky as to only be remembered for our greatest assets…"

This was getting long-winded, "And?" Mary interjected sharply.

"You'd be the first to admit Jinx had a few problems, wouldn't you?"

Mary didn't hesitate, "Yes."

"I just think it's imperative you don't forget that she wasn't perfect to make it easier on yourself," Marshall stressed. "Far be it from me to wish you dwell on all the negatives, but you don't have to carry this burden Mary…"

Though she probably wouldn't admit to it, Mary knew he was right. It was easy to build someone up once they were gone. The guilt could tear you up if you only focused on the bad, just as it had for Mary, only she'd reversed the sensation and put it onto herself. She'd known Jinx had her issues; known there were many years she'd earned her right to privacy and adulthood. She just tried not to remember the times so far in the distance where she'd actually been the mother, and Jinx had been the child.

Evidently, she was judging so closely it meant not all her thoughts stayed in her head. Some made it out into the world at large.

"I really did love her…" she intoned quietly to the floor. "Even when she drove me to the brink."

Marshall sighed and abandoned his plate to the island. Evidently, a kiss wasn't enough this time, and Mary had to discard her food as well. He collected her close in his arms, squeezing her tight, but contrary to the miserable shaking the night before, this was just the need to be together. The need to be understood.

"You don't have to convince me, Mare," his whisper was sweet in her ear. "For what it's worth, I don't think you would've had to convince Jinx either."

Mary wanted to adopt the, 'If Marshall said it, it must be true' philosophy, and found she was warming more to the thought every second, although the qualms still persisted. She feared they always would, but having someone there to refute them at every possible turn didn't hurt. James and his constant presence in her subconscious – well, they'd pretty much covered that the night before. Maybe it didn't need to be on the exterior anymore.

"You know how I told you…" Mary contributed from where her head lay splayed over Marshall's shoulder. He was such an encompassing, surrounding presence. "…How I told you that I've been thinking about Jinx and when the girls were born…" carrying on. "More specifically Alice."

"It is interesting you should mention that," Marshall gave her muscles a pinch before stepping back, through with the physical support for the time being. "Because I've been thinking about it too…"

"Well, I don't know why I am," Mary pointed out. "Are you going to finish that bacon?" Marshall smirked and handed her his last bites. Getting back to the memories, "I don't know why I'm so fixated on it. Jinx was barely there."

"I espoused a theory…" the man proclaimed somewhat snootily. "Do with it what you will."

Mary fed him her best exasperated look, in the back of her mind somewhat amazed she was able to jump from one end of the spectrum to the other like this. The release from the night before really had opened up a whole other world of possibilities.

"You may not recall this…" he was going on without hanging tight for any kind of reply. "Because when Jinx showed up toward the end you were sort of…" gesturing with a hand to try and describe, which didn't go over. "Out in left field. But, we can reflect upon that later…"

"What are we reflecting upon now?" Mary wished he would hurry up, without warning becoming eager about something she didn't remember involving Alice's birth.

"You know you cannot conceal yourself from me, inspector…" she was in for a lecture. "And I have known for a whole four years now that you are concerned you and Alice are not as melded as – say – you and Norah…"

Mary let him get away with the assumption, "So?"

"So, well…"

An almost condescending chuckle emitted from his mouth and he held up his hands with a twinkle in his eye. Mary was baffled until he wrapped up his little scenario.

"_Your_ mother had a child like that. Did she not?"

And with an astoundingly hard whack on the head, Mary saw the light. Alice was to Mary as Mary herself had been to Jinx. Polar opposites and often at odds, but never once questioning the love that ran, flowing free, underneath. Being different didn't stop them from caring for one another in the ways only they knew how. Jinx and Mary had-had something in common after all.

"In any case…" Marshall chattered while his wife sat there partially open-mouthed. "As I say, you were not quite on this planet by Jinx's final appearance in the delivery room, and so I might remember a few things you do not."

Mary batted her eyelashes at him, straining her brain, and wondering all the while how Marshall had gotten so insanely brilliant. And, with his help and his devotion, he was able to take her back.

_Mary was either going to vomit, pass out, or die. She wasn't sure which, and she couldn't immediately discern which she might prefer. She was in this third dimension, suspended in some sort horrifying limbo that involved only two things – refusal and pain. The refusal came in the form of holding back. She was being urged at every millisecond to keep her daughter in until the time was right._

_First of all, was there a 'right' time for such a thing? Did anybody legitimately know when the perfect opportunity was if they weren't Mary? They weren't the ones experiencing this unbearable and sickening pressure; it was almost gruesome, how her body was saying one thing and her head screamed for her to do differently._

_The pain needed no explanation. It had become a force beyond time and space. One moment it was ice; so cold Mary feared drowning and submerging in the sub-zero frost that was numbness. The next second it was fire; white and blazing hot, scorching everything from her intestines to her outer belly. She burned; she balled up; she tightened; she ached and screamed in agony from every pore of her skin._

_All of this was increased tenfold when Marshall bolted from the room to go use the bathroom. She had been pleading with him for hours to stay, and he'd held on as long as he could. In the miniscule corner of her mind that was still working, Mary knew he'd gone for it now because waiting any longer could mean missing the main attraction. They were running out of time and he had promised with repeated kisses and reassurances that he would be back in a flash._

_Still though, as Marshall himself barreled down the hall, he knew the bathroom was quite a ways, even past the waiting room. Fortunately, this gave him the opportunity to catch Jinx and have her stay with Mary until he returned. She would be alone – minus the nurses – for only about two minutes._

_When he approached those less-than-inviting couches, he skittered to a halt and Jinx stood up at once. He could tell by her face she thought perhaps this was 'it' but he made sure to get his piece in first._

"_I need you to go stay with Mary…" the words came out haggard and breathy from his sprint. "She's at nine centimeters; I'm going to the bathroom, I'll be right back, just…"_

_Marshall knew this was probably the first time Jinx had seen him look anywhere close to harassed, but he would be absolutely fine once he got back to Mary. Right now, she accepted his request without a second thought and slapped his arm in recognition._

"_You go. Go-go…" she insisted, motioning wildly beyond. "I've got her, honey…"_

_He split one direction and Jinx the other._

_Meanwhile, Mary thought she might have a stroke. She was sweating. She was burning up. She was freezing. She was shivering. And amidst it all, her stomach churned uncomfortably, reminding her that-that God awful pain was on its way. _

_With Marshall gone, she had only the nurse to complain to, and her protests came out as whining rather than snapping._

"_I was at nine a half hour ago…" she was on her right side, begging the nurse who was examining the printout from the heart monitor. "I'm at ten by now. I'm telling you, I have to…"_

_Mary was forced to stop to take a breath, and the other woman was infuriately calm and cheerful about cutting her off._

"_I know, you've gotta push…" she didn't even look up or raise her voice. "You're doing a wonderful job holding out. You wouldn't want Marshall to miss the first round."_

_Marshall was going to miss a lot more than that if he was gone more than thirty seconds, Mary thought. But instead of voicing it, she just cried with her hand over her eyes and dreaded the onslaught of contractions coming up, which were probably about a minute away._

_At that moment, the door burst open with a crash. If Mary had been in any shape to do so, she'd have turned to see if it was Marshall, but she was fixed facing the opposite side and had no idea what was going on. She considered calling out to whoever it was, when Jinx flew around the bed and plunked herself onto a rolling stool next to the nurse._

_Mary was so happy to see her – to see _somebody_ familiar – that she launched into a tirade at once with what little time she had left._

"_Mom, they're making me wait…" she wailed like some pathetic tattletale. "She's coming and I can't hang on until I'm ten centimeters…"_

_She watched as Jinx snatched the damp washcloth from the bedside table and appealed to the nurse, "How far apart are her contractions?"_

"_About a minute a half…" the sunny girl replied. "Fast and furious."_

_Jinx whirled around to face her daughter once more, who had stopped talking for a very good reason. The iron fist had struck and it had struck hard. Mary was groaning loudly, something between a series of grunts and gasps. Her eyes were squeezed shut and with every surge of pain came the feeling of her daughter descending lower and lower. She could not stop this, and longed to say so, but talking was as unattainable as everything else._

_Jinx sponged her forehead with the cloth, "Mary honey, breathe…" she implored. "Breathe, angel; deep breath…"_

_What came out her mouth was not a breath, but another tortured moan. Jinx sponged faster._

"_Take a deep breath…" she spoke slower, but also gentler this time. "Come on, sweetheart…"_

_While all this was going on Doctor Reese, who had been relatively nonexistent over by the sink, recognized the change in sounds coming from her patient and decided to take another quick check. Mary scarcely noticed the readjustment of the blue covering and her doctor conferring with the nurse._

"_Mary, you're doing great…" Doctor Reese promised brightly from her post. "We need you to wait it out though; you're not quite there…" bad-bad news. "Try to keep from pushing; I know it's hard; but she's not ready…"_

_Hard did not even begin to describe it, and ready was exactly what it was. She was more than ready for this to be over. Jinx's fruitless efforts to keep her calm hardly registered in her murky, tearstained vision. She'd had about two seconds of breathing room before she was slammed a second time; the contractions were one on top of the other. The pain was so intense that what was intended to be a scream of agony ended up being one of anguish._

"_Where's Marshall?!"_

_Nobody was answering her, not even Jinx. She was discussing with the experts as quickly as possible. She'd quit mopping her sweaty forehead and was now clutching her hand._

"_Why is there no space in-between her contractions; she's not getting a break. Is that normal?"_

"_Yeah, she's hit transition. It's brutal and they come really close together, but she's at about nine and a half centimeters. I would guess she'll be through it and ready to push within fifteen minutes…"_

_The 'fifteen minutes' portion was the only part that caught Mary's attention beneath her efforts to squeeze all the vessels out of Jinx's hand. Fifteen minutes was an eternity. Fortunately, before she could bawl over this too, her mother was back._

"_Marshall's in the bathroom; he is coming right back…" she insisted. The elder woman's green eyes were focused now; they were locked in on Mary's suffering and the spiel that ran from her lips might've astonished both of them._

"_Listen to me – fifteen minutes is nothing. You've been at this twenty-one hours, sweetheart…"_

_Hands grabbed her face. _

"_You can do it. Breathe and listen; keep breathing…"_

_Cradling her cheeks._

"_I need you to do something for me…"_

_She couldn't nod._

"_You be my big, brave Mary…"_

_But she could cry._

"_Can you be my big girl?"_

_She was six years old again._

"_You be my brave girl and hang on like they tell you."_

_She was supposed to do what her mother said._

"_I'm right here, honey…"_

_Foreheads tipped together. One-to-one._

"_I'm right here. Marshall's on his way…"_

_A cocoon of shelter beneath their entwined heads._

"_He's on his way. Breathe…"_

_A gasp circled in their insulation._

"_Good girl."_

_The words inspired such hope; such liberation. Here she had spent so many years worrying Jinx thought she was unkind and wrong – a bad girl, a bad daughter. None of that mattered now. Her mother had said she'd done a good job, and she believed her._

_The scenes became hazy even as the pain reached the crest of the peak; as Mary fought her tremors and shrieks. One minute Jinx was there, and the next she was no longer. Mary was trapped in a hole; a hole she was going to have to wait fifteen very long minutes to crawl out of._

_But, when the fog cleared and the smoke dissolved to wisps, there was a man sitting where Jinx had been before. She stared at him, wide-eyed and rigid with exhaustion. She suddenly realized, after a moment or two, that it was Marshall._

_Jinx was right. He was here._

"_There was a _line_…" he griped, and Mary didn't have a clue what he was talking about. Stroking her damp hair, "You okay?"_

_She did not know what she was saying. Her voice had a mind of its own._

"_I'm okay…"_

_She was far too bedraggled for it to be true, "You sure? I'm so sorry I was gone that long; I had to cut…"_

_The question was the only one that reverberated in Mary's ears, and it was the only one she could answer. The one she wouldn't remember in the end._

"_I'm sure…" a whisper as tears trickled down her face. "Jinx took care of me."_

XXX

**A/N: I suppose I should reveal now that there are only a handful of chapters left! I appreciate all the support each of you have given me!**


	28. Chapter 28

**A/N: Thank-you to those of you still rockin' the reviews – my sincere gratitude, as always!**

XXX

That afternoon, Mary lounged around with Brandi while they tried to set a mutual date to start working on Jinx's apartment. Part of Mary was worried about what they'd find there – after the letters - but knew it could not sit barren forever. Although it felt a little like whiplash to be thinking about clearing her home and boxing her things just a day after the funeral, moving on was essential at some point.

However, they didn't get much accomplished, and by the time Marshall brought the kids home at a quarter 'till four, they were loafing on the couch and chatting. The wind that swept through the front door wasn't as chilly today, probably helped along by the blinding sun, which was still going strong. But, the children brought as much gossip as ever, and Mary and Brandi halted their discussions to commence with greetings.

Robyn made it into the living room first, shaking her mane of hair out of her face, which was full of static from the chipper breeze.

"Hey mom…" she said casually, still sweeping at her bangs. "Hi Mary."

"Hi sweetie…" Brandi doused them with sugar; sounding so much like Jinx it was scary. She sat up a little further, "How was school?"

Robyn bit excitedly on her lip, but seemed a little reluctant to share. Mary was baffled by this, as Robyn hardly ever considered the circumstances before blurting out something stimulating. Before either her or Brandi could pose what this might be about, Marshall spoke up as he came thumping through the living room on his cowboy boots.

"Have it out, princess," he advocated her cause, whatever it was. "She has some exhilarating news."

Brandi grabbed both her arms to shake her and prompt a laugh, "Well, don't keep me hanging!" a demand. "What's going on? You don't think we could use some good news?"

"I wasn't sure if you'd want to hear it…" Robyn confessed, trying to shrug but finding she couldn't with Brandi gripping her forearms. "If you were still too bummed about Jinx…"

This struck Mary as one of the most thoughtful things Robyn had ever said. There was really nothing unkind or selfish about the nine-year-old, but she was rather focused on herself on occasion; it was part of her confidence. Nonetheless, here was evidence that she sought to please another when the stars aligned properly.

"No honey…" Brandi assured her. "It'll lift my spirits."

"Yeah, babe; let's hear it…" Mary chimed in from the opposite end of the couch.

Marshall stopped halfway to the island to listen, even though Mary was pretty sure he already knew what was about to be revealed. There was a light in his bright blue eyes that said he was glad things were starting to shift back into normalcy, even if it was temporary. The other kids were still talking at the door, and had their own activities to be concerned with.

"Well…you know how it's pioneer week at school, right?" Robyn ventured slowly, visibly about to burst at the inability to keep this in.

Brandi was decidedly merry, "Yes!" an exclamation. "Wait…" she backtracked. "That wasn't last week?"

"It started last week," Robyn clarified. "But, my group decided we were going to put on this play kind of thing, but my teacher said she wanted us to try out for the parts first…"

"Yes!" Brandi repeated. "I remember – you wanted to be the mother, isn't that right? She has the most lines."

"Mmm hmm…" Robyn hummed with a quick nod, top teeth poking over her lip in anticipation now. "We auditioned yesterday and she said she'd tell us today if we got the part…"

Mary was pretty sure she knew where this was headed now, but was still finding it difficult to view Robyn embodying this contained persona. She really was trying, and the aunt had to wonder if Peter or somebody had put her up to keeping the drama under wraps. She well-remembered Brandi's efforts to get her daughter to put a lid on it when Norah had gone missing. She'd proven she was capable.

"Sweetheart, did she pick you?" Brandi took a little bit of the climax out with a knowing wink, still clutching her arms.

Robyn gave a fervent, almost uncontrollable nod of suppressed mirth, "Yeah!"

Brandi began to laugh; a hoarse and scratchy sound, while Marshall did the same in the kitchen. She kissed her daughter on the cheek and smoothed her hair out of the way a third time.

"Robyn, I'm so proud of you…" Brandi declared unashamedly, the girl's cheeks reddening as she said it. "That's fantastic…"

"Isn't it though?" Marshall's strong voice carried from the beyond. "I was quite pleased with such a result. I told her we all must attend the final production. I even came up with the perfect way to introduce her to the crowd…"

Even Robyn hadn't been privy to this, and she turned over her shoulder to inquire, "How?"

Marshall cleared his throat in hugely dramatic fashion, almost like he was gargling a glass of milk. This prompted a fit of giggles from Alice, still by the door, until he gave up the ghost. When the words came, it brought a genuine smile to Mary's face; it was a blast from the past, a moment of nostalgia they could all thrive upon.

In a brilliant impression, Marshall proclaimed, "My name is Robyn Mary Shannon, and I was…"

The tail-end was picked up by every adult in the room, perhaps even Norah, "…And I was born on the Fourth of July!"

The laughter that followed was booming, and with much flourishing of arms, but to Mary's surprise, Robyn looked faintly embarrassed. Her cheeks reddened and she grinned sheepishly, averting her gaze as best she could. In all the years she'd known Robyn; her aunt had never once known her to appear mortified.

"It was your signature salutation, princess…" Marshall declared. "You have to admit."

Until that moment, Mary had forgotten just how tired that line had become when Robyn was younger. Perhaps that explained the blushing – even her niece was growing up.

Fortunately, she was spared further humiliation when Alice galloped in toward the action, the plaid jumper she'd worn to school a little bit floppy on her tiny frame. Mary had the suspicion that Mark had unearthed it that morning when he'd sent her and Norah off to school; it used to be the elder sister's, but didn't entirely fit.

"Robyn said I could help her practice!" she announced vigorously, fluffing her hair reminiscent of the cousin she was boasting about. "She said I could play the baby girl…"

"That'll work real well…" Norah's sarcasm joined them too, and Mary noted her hair looked as if it hadn't been brushed as of late. "So long as the script only has words that start with M and T, since those are the only letters you know."

Mary felt certain that Alice might blow a gasket at this, fed-up with Norah's insinuations that she was just a dumb little sister. But, the mother must've read the signals wrong. There was the smallest smidgen of sympathy in her phrases that spoke of consideration, rather than mocking.

Alice blinked her large cobalt eyes at her sister, "Could you read it with me?" a quiet, shy query. "Please Norah? I really want to help Robyn."

Mary definitely expected Norah to sneer and tell her to forget it – she had better things to do. While she and Robyn got along perfectly well, they'd never been thick as thieves as she and Alice were.

But, the woman was surprised once again by the kindness, "Yeah, okay…" she shrugged. "I can't do it for too long because I have a lot of homework…"

"Let's go back to your room," Robyn suggested, shouldering her backpack to prepare materials. "I even have a part of my costume!"

There was further astonishment to be had when Alice grabbed Norah's hand in thanks for agreeing to assist. New ground had been broken between them; a heartbreaking loss and nights spent away together could do that sometimes, if only for a little while.

"What homework do you have?" the four-year-old sounded slightly commending.

"Social studies; I have to write the fifty states on a map…"

Alice continued to trail along behind the older girls, practically skipping her way over the hardwood to fond, warm smiles from Brandi. Robyn was still chattering a mile-a-minute about her role, even though nobody was listening at this point.

"That sounds _hard_…" Alice breathed admiringly in response to the workload.

Marshall was the one who chuckled, and Mary quickly followed suit when Norah wrenched her fingers apart from the little one's, proving she was still Norah.

"Don't touch me…" she requested snidely. "Your hand's all sticky."

The laughter was still ringing as they began their ascent to the bedroom when Mary heard the sound of shuffling by the front door. With a significant amount of lead resting heavy in her stomach, she saw Max. He was still fooling with his coat, unable to undo the snap-buttons with his mittens on. Mary sighed, glad he wasn't simply standing there watching the trio, but it was also easy to see how he got left behind.

She knew things couldn't have turned out completely perfect, or anywhere close to it, lamenting the fact that her speech hadn't had more effect on the girls.

"Marshall, could you give Max a hand?" Mary piped up, not going to have a second discussion with the room full of people, but there would be time for it later.

Her husband did as instructed, but right before they reached the arch in the hallway, Norah pulled them to a halt. She grabbed Alice's shoulder to get her to stop, and Robyn noticed the gesture and did the same. Mary thought she heard her child whisper something that sounded like, 'Wait' before speaking to the room at large – or so she thought.

"Max, you should come rehearse with us…" it came in a loud, clear, and convincing voice. "Robyn said there's a neighbor boy in it or something. You want to come?"

Bless Norah, Mary couldn't help thinking. The rush of gratitude and pride that pooled from watching her daughter display such empathy and maturity touched her heart. She knew she was still weepy and emotional from Jinx's passing, but it still did her so much good to see her plan in action.

Max paused while Marshall undid his buttons and batted his eyes amazingly fast behind his glasses. He was certainly taken aback, and speaking with all these people looking at him wasn't something he was accustomed to.

Somehow, he worked up the courage, but it came in less than a whisper, "Really? You want me to?"

"Yeah, we really need you," Norah insisted with an assertive nod. "Right Robyn?"

Although Mary couldn't see them now, she imagined Norah was giving her cousin quite a look. She'd long since been top dog, being the oldest, and knew Robyn would be less willing to allow younger brother to tag along. Mary could picture the face Norah was using to persuade her, and laughed just thinking about it.

Fortunately, Robyn got the message, "Yeah, sure…" she wasn't as bold as Norah this time, but hunched her shoulders indifferently. "But, hurry up; I want to start!"

Like a director, Mary decided while Brandi chortled. But, Max was ready to roll now that he'd been invited. Allowing Marshall to take his coat and mittens, he practically sprinted across the hardwood to join them, and Mary could've sworn he threw her a delighted grin in the process. She watched as he slowly inserted himself into the gang and they made their way down the hall together.

The babble had commenced, forgetting parents, aunts, uncles, and even long-gone Jinx as they became the blissful innocents that kids were. But, Mary shattered the calm for only half a second, knowing it was important to acknowledge something she'd so heartily asked for.

"Hey, Bug!"

The others turned only for a moment before continuing on, but her blonde baby; the one with the deepest, darkest, largest eyes and the unrivaled independence, waited for the green light.

Mary only smiled and left it at one word, "Thanks."

This earned her a satisfied, proud grin before she nodded, always pleased to have made her mother happy, and resumed her path back to the bedroom. She was free to play pretend, lose herself in carefree desires, and be a kid for a little while. Lending a hand to young Max had been her very good deed for the day.

Once they had departed, Marshall revisited the kitchen and Mary turned around to see Brandi shaking her head, a puzzled smile on her face.

"I'm surprised Max decided to go with them…" she mused, more to herself than to Mary. "He usually doesn't want much to do with the girls."

Mary felt a small hitch in her heart at Brandi's apparent obliviousness to such a situation. She reminded herself a second time that her sister wasn't being stupid, although it was an effort. She did spend more time with Max and had probably decided his introverted attitude was 'who he was,' just as a performing seal was who Robyn was. Or something less blunt.

Even though she had not wanted to raise the subject today, she had been presented with a good opportunity. She made a spontaneous choice to run with it.

"Squish…" a sigh accompanied the decision while Mary shifted on the couch, tucking her socked feet underneath her. "You mind if I talk to you about him for a second?"

The already bewildered look on Brandi's face altered even more so, and she gave a rather theatrical blink of surprise, "About Max you mean?"

A nod, "Yeah."

She gave Brandi a moment on that, and it seemed she found it prudent to budge her form on the couch as well – perhaps prepare herself. Mary knew this was coming out of the blue and tried to remember it the longer she considered how to begin. The younger looked strangely distant, even though she was barely four feet on the other end of the couch.

"Far be it from me to tell you how to raise your own kid, Brandi…" prefacing the situation might aide, but she got interrupted.

"I'm loving this so far," the sarcasm was almost as abrasive as her laugh had been.

Mary ignored her, "Look, I wouldn't go so far as to say I'm _worried_ about Max, but…" she hedged; grateful Brandi hadn't interjected another time, giving her a second to process. "I don't know. Is concerned the same thing?"

Brandi seemed shockingly unaffected by all the vague overture to what was really going on. She had her arms crossed over her chest and almost appeared amused, like Mary might be making a mountain out of a molehill. If nothing else, it was hardly ordinary for Mary to attempt delicacy when doling out stipulations of any kind.

"What do you mean you're worried about him?" she finally posed. "Why?"

"Squish, I just don't think you see this for what it is…"

"See _what_ for what it is?" the humorous sparkle in her eyes turned very quickly to irritation. "Mare, I am really not following at all here. I need something a little more specific."

For someone who usually craved the exact same thing, Mary was being an awful hypocrite at the moment. She just knew Brandi had-had a lot to deal with in the last week – they all had – and dumping parenting suggestions on top of her already fragile mind-set wasn't the best idea. Shouldn't the other Shannon appreciate that?

"Brandi…" it was going to be tough, not making this sound obvious, even when Mary couldn't possibly see how her sister had missed the signs. "I think he feels _really_ excluded. I don't know about school, but here with the girls…" a helpless shrug to indicate misunderstanding of how the whole thing had occurred. "He was in the backyard for hours – alone, by himself – when we had the funeral."

She hadn't meant to jump the gun so quickly; to shock and horrify her sister into thinking her son was falling apart. But, it had seemed right in the present; an example to verify what she was saying – proof she wasn't just being critical of Brandi and Peter, lest they forget him.

She certainly turned Brandi's aloof expression around. Her face fell at once, and her eyes skittered back and forth. Mary could see she was trying to figure out how she hadn't accounted for Max at all during the funeral or wake.

"What…?" there was a snippet of trying to sound disbelieving, but Brandi must've known Mary wouldn't fabricate something like this. "Why would he do that? Was he scared – was he upset about mom? Why didn't he talk to me?"

Mary was unable to reign in her exasperation with the blatancy in the final remark and lost her cool, "Because he _doesn't_ talk! To anyone! I mean, at least not when he's around anybody in this house."

"Mare, he talks to me at home," Brandi claimed at once, and without hesitation. "Not a lot, but…I mean, he's a quiet kid…"

Mary had suspected this would come up, and she refuted it, trying to be as kind and as non-judgmental as possible.

"Squish, I'm not telling you to go and change his whole personality – I love a mellow kid; you know that…" it was important to emphasize this, to note she did not find Max in any way damaged or defeated. "But, I think he feels really different – like he doesn't belong – and, I don't know…"

Now that she'd gotten started, Mary wasn't sure where the advice portion of this conversation was going to come in. She didn't have experience with quiet, secluded children. Brandi had been the only one to get that end of the stick, even when you threw them, as Jinx's offspring, into the mix.

"I'd just maybe keep an eye on him, is all."

She studied Brandi's face to try and figure out if this was going to hold any weight. The mention of the hiding outdoors had definitely sparked her interest, and Mary could see she was still in the midst of dealing with the realization right now. In some ways, she figured her little sister was probably being a tad hard on herself if she thought she'd missed _everything_. It wasn't that severe.

The hushed response that came wasn't one that Mary expected, "Does he talk to _you_?"

It wasn't Mary's intention to have her feel like second-best in the eyes of her own kid. But, it was clear from the woebegone look in Brandi's baby blues that-that was exactly where they'd landed. The older sister tried to pretend she didn't see the tears welling, but she did.

"I'm not his mother, Squish…" she shook her head. "Kids don't want to talk to their mom."

"Yeah, but that's not supposed to happen 'till he's like, sixteen," she declared. "Not six."

With discretion, Mary barreled on, "He talked to me the other day, yes. And the day of the visitation, but…"

"What'd he say at the visitation?" Brandi proposed wildly, ending Mary's thought. "Maybe he's just upset about mom, and that's why all this is coming out. Things are hard right now, and mom was nuts about him…"

"That could be part of it," Mary was willing to say so, but she didn't entirely believe it. The anguish over Brandi's well-being with the drinks and the alcohol probably _was_ a Jinx thing. The segregation wasn't. "You're right; mom did think he was quite the guy. She used to say she'd marry a man like Max someday."

Brandi chuckled sadly, nodding with recognition, but she was also biting her thumbnail reminiscent of the way Mary did. Her question hadn't been answered about the visitation, and Mary was starting to regret having brought it up. One bomb dropping was enough for the day.

"He was just confused at the visitation…" she tried to make light so Brandi wouldn't start bawling about what a horrible mother she was. "He heard some people blathering about how mom died because she drank, and he was afraid something might happen to you because…" a nonchalant shrug. "I guess he knows you didn't exactly use discretion with liquor back in the day?" she raised her eyebrows at this, her turn to wait for a response.

"Yeah, he knows about both me and Peter…" she said absently. "Or, as much as we could tell him. So – he was just mixed-up; that's it?"

Mary decided a little fib on this one wouldn't hurt, especially since she was more adamant that Brandi take notice of Max's social skills.

"Pretty much."

It was after she lied in that respect that she noticed Marshall watching them. He was acting as if he weren't, washing some dish in the sink, but she could see his eyes flickering their direction. She found herself wondering what he might think; she hadn't discussed Max with anybody. It had felt like it was between the two of them, but Brandi _was_ his mother. She reserved the right to know whatever might be going on with him.

"Are the girls mean to him?" Brandi whispered, sounding fearful. Mary ought to have known how quickly she'd take stock in the tale she was being told; she held a lot of faith in big sister. "Do they say things they shouldn't? I mean, I like to think I wouldn't have failed to notice…"

"No…" Mary shook her head. And then, not wanting her opinion to appear the be-all, end-all, "I mean, I don't think so. They're just young still, I'm not sure they understand how they're coming across. Norah's picking up on it though…" she jerked her head at the bedroom door, indicating her eldest's recent noble action.

There was a pause before Brandi proceeded in a meek voice, "I don't _want_ him to feel left out."

Mary knew this was a defense mechanism, and in an act of compassion, she leaned over and laid her hand on Brandi's knee. They'd had more contact as of late with Jinx's passing and it didn't feel so awkward. Brandi's orbs were guilty and unusually round as she stared at Mary for guidance.

"I know, Squish," an honest promise. "You really haven't screwed him up or anything – that isn't what I was getting at. He is a great kid; I wouldn't trade him for anything."

Brandi gave a weak smile, "I wouldn't either."

Mary was boosted by the interaction and drove forward, "I just wanted you to be aware," an attempt at giving a better explanation, grasping her knee tighter. "I love him; I want him to be happy."

Brandi nodded sedately, trying to buck up and not appear as shameful as Mary knew she had quickly become about this. It was never easy to admit your child had fallen through some cracks, but every one of them had been there. Cocking her head she decided if she was going to donate love all afternoon, she might as well end with some skeletons of her own.

"This is coming from a mom who let her kid run away, Squish…" a sheepish roll of her eyes, slipping back and sliding her hand off the leg it supported. "Not exactly _my_ finest hour."

Brandi began to laugh a little more naturally, and Mary was pleased to see that her reminder had helped. At the more joyous sound, Marshall clearly thought it was safe to venture into their midst. He wore a dish towel on his arm and carried a plate of assorted fruit that had been left over from the wake.

"May I offer you ladies refreshments?" he dipped considerably downward, holding the old plate like it was a silver serving platter. "I have quite the spread waiting in the confines of our refrigerator."

Brandi's laugh rapidly turned into a giggle as she chose a piece of cantaloupe, "Pretty good service, Marshall."

"I told him…" Mary pointed a long finger, comfortable with the ability to bypass Max provisionally. "After this morning, I said he was going to be a waiter in his next life."

"I'd think long and hard about that one," the younger of the two claimed. "I bussed a lot of tables in my day; it's not pretty."

Mary completely ignored their exchange, and rebuffed the opportunity for healthy sustenance, "You think I want fruit?" she inquired with a wrinkled nose. "When I know there are extra cheese slices _and_ that box of chocolates you got for Alice in the fridge?"

"A choco-cheese dish," Marshall mulled over with contempt. "I confess it does not sound overly appetizing to yours truly, but…" spreading his arms wide. "To each their own."

She shot him a dirty look as she stood up, pretending to tip the tray of citrus onto the carpet with her exit to the kitchen. Brandi just shook her head exasperatedly at the pair of them, knowing they operated in their own rhythm; in their own sync. She was both in awe and incredulity of how they managed to keep it in flow.

Mary hadn't expected Marshall to follow her to the fridge with an all-knowing smirk on his face. She resisted for awhile, taking far too much time than was necessary on each shelf, not pulling her head out, muttering indiscriminately about dishes she couldn't find.

Eventually, when she knew he'd reached his breaking point, the gentle voice came.

"So…" Marshall was smooth and slinky, and a hand made it to her bent back.

Mary straightened, turned around, and hunched her brows with a, 'been there, done that' sort of look that said she'd seen his act before. She was unimpressed, but willing to play along.

"So, what?" she even dragged out the letter O to sound particularly derisive.

He actually shimmied his hips as he came closer, weaving his arms around her waist, "So…giving the advice…laying the groundwork…looking out for Max…"

"Nosy little eavesdrop, you are…"

His index finger found her cheek and nudged it so she was facing him, showing that her desire to avoid was not going into full effect on this February afternoon. Mary granted him eyes cast skyward and nothing more.

"Looks to me like you are back in transmission, inspector," a bold statement was made.

Mary kept her bluffing façade to a T, "And why would you think that?"

At first, she thought her answer was the supple, tingling kiss he laid on her lips. She drank in the sensation, feeling the sparks fly from her fingertips to her feet. It was a passion she sometimes missed. It had been so prevalent during their early years, but she was pleased to see that when the timing was just right, that old elation could glimmer in her veins once more.

When Marshall came back into view, it was still with that air of dominance – of supremacy.

"You're protecting the homeland again," he finished fearlessly. "And that's the Mary we all know and love."

XXX

**A/N: Only three chapters remain; I am sorry to say! But, not to worry; the show's not over yet.**


	29. Chapter 29

**A/N: I am flattered that some of you are actually sad this is wrapping up!**

XXX

Mary had thought the unappealing discussions of feelings and twists and turns were over for the day. She was in for a change of plans when she was sitting at the counter finishing her dinner and heard a tentative knock on the front door. She was about to get up and grab it – or at least have Marshall do it, for he was up and rooting his head around in the fridge – when it opened of its own accord. Mark stuck his head through the frame, waiting for a little more of an invitation.

Mary glanced upward to see him looking like he had no torso, "Hey. You guys busy?"

She decided to give him a hard time while she chewed her chicken, "I think you say that when you call beforehand, not when you've already stopped by."

"What she means…" Marshall all-but spoke over her, shutting the refrigerator door. "Is we are so pleased to see you, and do come in."

Mary didn't hesitate to give her husband a look of pure contempt, but Mark was as easygoing as ever and heeded Marshall's advice. He was carrying a red coat on his arm, and stopped to say hello to Alice, who was watching some cartoon on the television.

"You find room for dinner after that monster breakfast you had, cutie?" he proposed genially, and she turned from where she was sprawled on the couch to answer.

"Can we go there again sometime?" Alice suggested, leaning her chin in her hands. She was already in her pajamas and the blanket she'd been wearing fell to the floor. "I want to try the waffles."

Mary saw Marshall's face go slightly pink at Alice's inability to be grateful for one trip and immediately ask for a second. She was four. Mary had to wonder why he expected more.

"That sounds like a plan," Mark was very sweet, and popped her on the nose with his index finger, to which she giggled. "I know I had fun. It's not often I get to hang out with you _and_ Norah."

"That was the first time I ever stayed at your house," Alice informed him proudly. "Norah's lucky she gets to go there a lot."

Mark chuckled, "Well, I don't know about that," an attempt at modesty. "But, I'd love to have you again soon, Alice. Is it a date?"

Mary watched as he held out his hand for her to shake, and she reached and wrung it heartily up and down. The woman knew how lucky she was to have mixed this blended-somewhat-discombobulated version of a family. She knew it could've been so much harder with two men and four kids and lack-of-marriage for so many years. Somehow, they'd managed to make it work.

Leaving Alice to her cartoon, Mark sauntered to his original destination, the kitchen, and held up the coat he was carrying.

"Norah left this in the car this morning," he detailed. "Can't get that kid to wear a coat for anything." And then, "Is she even here?" he glanced around as though his daughter might be hiding.

"She's in her room doing homework," Mary said. "Thanks for bringing that by…" Marshall was the one who took the jacket and went to hang it up. "And for the breakfast run this morning. I guess the girls had a good time."

"Oh, it was a blast…" Mark enthused, his boyish brown eyes coming alive at the prospect. "They were bumming pretty hard last night – understandable – but were raring to go this morning. Alice ate this enormous stack of chocolate chip pancakes." He shot her a knowing look, "Like mother like daughter, huh?"

Mary was prepared to fire back and pretend to be insulted that he'd called her a pig, but decided against it. Her intuition was too honed to think he had stopped in just to drop off a coat – a coat that could've very easily been kept at his house, since Norah had a second one. She put down her fork and eyed him with suspicion.

"Is the coat the only reason you stopped by?"

She wasn't going to give him much of an out. It wasn't like Mark to come knocking at dinnertime, and Marshall must've sensed it too, because he made a detour from returning to the kitchen and settled himself on the couch with Alice. Mary wanted to tell him he didn't need to leave them alone, that he was as much a part of her and Mark's relationship as anybody else, but the timing didn't present itself. In any case, Mark had fessed up.

"Well…" he knew better than to balk in front of Mary. "You remember I…kind of had something I needed to talk to you about."

Yeah, she remembered; she just had no clue what it might be. He'd been harboring whatever it was for over a week now. This meant it was either very trivial or extremely consequential. Mary found herself hoping the former was true, but something told her that wasn't the case. But, she also knew she needed to give him a chance. He'd been wonderful throughout Jinx's passing, as she'd told herself the day before.

"Pull up a chair," she attempted to sound very blasé, jerking her head at the extra barstool at the island.

He nodded and did as she instructed, scooting it so he sat directly in front of her with no counter in-between. Mary had to turn her own chair to make this work, and she noticed Mark give a covert glance to the individuals in the living room. This was a red flag in Mary's mind and she called him on it.

"Is this something we need to be alone for?" a furrowed brow accompanied the question.

"No…" Mark laughed easily. "I mean, I am kind of glad Norah's in her room. I wanted to wait and talk to her after I talked to you."

All this discussion of 'talk' was making Mary uneasy. She knew this probably wasn't anything horrific, but something had made Mark nervous about broaching the subject. She couldn't say for sure whether this was because of her usually testy demeanor, or if the topic was something Mark knew _anybody_ would dislike.

"Well, don't dance around it all night…" that was all that Mary could ask. "Just say it and have done with it, all right? I think you've waited long enough."

Mark seemed slightly ruffled by the fact that Mary recognized he had kept this in the vault for awhile. It was a heads-up gesture, something he knew she possessed but rarely acted upon outside of work.

"I can live with that," he stated confidently.

Mary sent a nod his direction, trying not to appear too out-of-her-element. She shifted in her chair, crossing her ankles on the lower rung of the barstool. She also took to twisting her hands in her lap, unable to settle them quietly. Other than that, all she could do was wait.

And wait. And wait.

Mark took a deep breath. She flashed him a look of bewilderment and he attempted a sheepish smile. Just when she thought she was going to have to beat it out of him, he let it go.

"I met someone."

Mary had to wonder how she looked to him in that moment. She made a brave attempt at keeping her real feelings under wraps, which were that of true anti-climax. She was failing to understand why this was the massive undertaking he made it out to be. He shouldn't have been jittery about that. Did he think she still harbored some longing desire for him deep down, and would be jealous? It was with this thought that Mary decided to poke a little bit of fun.

"You met someone," she repeated. "A woman?"

A smirk from her ex, "Yes, a woman."

"And what is this woman's name? Bertha? Gertrude?"

"Her name is Jill…" Mark interrupted with polite exasperation, but Mary wasn't through.

"And did her and Jack go up the hill?"

"All right!" he raised his voice, still grinning, but quickly lowered it to be mindful of the pair in the living room. "I'm glad to see you're enjoying this."

"Oh, I am…" Mary assured him with her usual brand of condescension. She found it in her to recline back a little in her seat, crossing her arms over her middle, "Why the big production just for that?" she couldn't resist asking. "You had me thinking it was something important."

She called it as such on purpose – her way of saying she knew it _was_ important, at least to Mark. She had no qualms about this. Mark had never been shy when it came to the ladies; he flirted with all sorts of girls in bars and on the job. It was in his nature; as automatic as breathing. It didn't occur to her that there might be a reason he'd brought this Jill into conversation – into their lives.

"Well, Mare…" he got back to her question while she considered all this. "I like her a lot; I've actually been seeing her for several months."

Her interest heightened, and the edgy feeling returned to her limbs. She'd missed something, and she knew it.

A swallow, "Really?" playing it cool.

"Yeah…"

And then, he seemed to think it was all right to adopt her blurt-it-out-philosophy from before, because he wasted no time. Only on this round, it was something Mary wished – deeply wished – he had used more caution in wording.

"I'd like Norah to meet her."

Mary was still rather bright-eyed and jovial from her teasing spell. But, she could just imagine how quickly that expression turned to a daze; a sort of deer-in-the-headlights stupor, left with a benign half-smile on her open mouth.

Her first, immediate thought was no. No, no, and no again. No, Norah cannot meet your gum-chewing bimbo. And why would she?

Fortunately, she had regained a segment of her ability to put on the mask, and Mark didn't seem fazed by a look that told him all this – just anxious. She blinked, finding that her crossed-arms were gripping a little too tightly into her own flesh. With a gulp, she managed a question that could be taken as neither positive or negative.

"Why?"

Mark put up his hands, palms-out and nodded, as though this were only fair. He had come equipped for an avalanche, after all.

"Well…Jill and I are getting a little more serious…" he was careful about using that word, but could think of no other to explain the relationship. "I don't want Norah to think I'm keeping this from her, but I also didn't want to have them meet until I thought it was going somewhere. There's no sense in her being confused or getting attached if it isn't for the long-haul."

His rationality almost flabbergasted Mary, while she also felt a twinge of infuriation. Reasonable, level-headed people were harder to argue with. Nonetheless, the final phrase was the one she clung to.

"Long-haul…" it was a statement, not a query. "Is…that why you've decided it's progressed from flirting to 'serious' or what?"

Mark recognized the edge, and cast another furtive glance to Marshall and Alice beyond. He also seemed to be antsy about having Norah herself walk in and hear this discussion, and the way he leaned to see her bedroom door definitely indicated this.

"I just think it's time, Mare…" it was vague, but truthful. "Jill knows all about her; it's not going to come as a big shock to her that I have a daughter."

"Just to Norah, then?" Mary tried to reign in the accusatory structure, but she hadn't quite made it. Without giving Mark a chance to pounce, she segued into other important matters. "How old is this girl? Twenty-five? What does she do? Teach aerobics down at the gym?"

Mark wasn't quite able to hide his exasperation about her juvenility and his brown eyes turned darker and less buoyant with the interrogation. He was never one to back down when he felt the need to defend himself.

"Give me a little credit, would you please?" he requested. "If you have to know, she's three years younger than me..."

"And how old do you tell chicks you are these days?"

Mark blew through her acidity, "She's a teacher – second grade. She loves kids. If we can get her and Norah squared away, I'd love for her to get to know Alice too."

That was far too much for Mary to contemplate; as she was too busy trying to figure out what was wrong with Mark dating an educator. It was so…_sane_ of him. It made him feel like an adult. With a jolt of her heart, Mary realized he'd been an adult for a long time. She often failed to realize it.

"Don't make me beg, Mare…" although he was very close to it already. "I knew you probably wouldn't be crazy about this, but Norah is the most important person in my life. I want to include her. Don't you think it's about time I grew up?"

He said the last portion with the tiniest hint of joking, and it surprised Mary, who had just been having thoughts along those lines. It made her a little bit sad that Mark still thought she saw him as a deadbeat who would never settle down. He was a wonderful father and an equally wonderful friend, but Mary knew what all this meet-and-greet might mean.

If 'serious' meant what she thought it did, there could be impending co-habitation. A wedding.

She felt sick at the thought of Norah having a step-mother, and knew how selfish it was. Mark had dealt with Marshall for ten years and done so admirably. She wasn't sure she trusted herself to do the same.

With a very critical eye, she leaned out of the corner of the chair to be closer to him.

"I wouldn't expect her to be as well-adjusted about this as whatever fantasy you're cooking up in your head…" she knew she sounded arrogant, but she didn't especially care. "Just because she already has a step-parent, I mean. Marshall's been here her whole life; he was never some interloper…"

"Jill isn't an interloper," Mark cut in, and Mary had to back down.

"Fine, poor choice of words," she conceded. "I'm just saying. Be prepared."

"I am," he didn't yield in the least, but the discomfort came in his next request, and it was a big one. "But…can I count on your support if…things start out a little rocky?"

He honestly didn't look like he was sure that was feasible, Mary thought. Although she wasn't wild about bridging some sort of gap if Norah didn't take to Jill, she knew she owed Mark the assistance he was asking for. However, if he expected her to be some sort of cheerleader, he had another thing coming.

"If I think she's legitimate…" was her snide reply, settling back in the stool once more. "Then I'll help you out. You need me to do a background check or anything?"

Mark snickered, thinking it might be safe, "Like with the nannies," a recollection. "I think I'm good. And…thanks for being…semi-cool about this," he wiggled his fingers to indicate 'semi.'

Mary wanted to tell him they were far from finished; she still didn't like the perturbed feeling that lingered in her belly. It was really hard, she realized, to work at accepting a situation you were against for no good reason. She'd never made the effort before; she'd simply snarked her way through, no holds barred. Yet, Mark had every right to ask for this – to live his own life and bring Norah into the fold.

But still. A second mother in Norah's existence? What if she couldn't handle it?

"Let me know when you plan on handshakes…" she said tightly, her words staccato in her hard-fought ability to reel in the smart remarks.

"You want to be there?" he suddenly offered genially, but Mary shook her head.

"Better leave me out for the first visit…" she didn't know how well her charitable acts would hold out. "But, just let me know."

Mark nodded his agreement, understanding her motivation – her need to know what was going on and why. It always helped Mary to feel in control, and he wasn't going to take that from her in this instance. He also wanted to make it clear there was no malice between them – that wasn't why he was bringing Jill to the forefront today.

"I hope this was a decent time…" he reciprocated blandly, not imagining Mary would find any time favorable. "So soon after Jinx and everything. I know you don't need anything else unexpected piled on your plate – trust me. I know."

An alarm went off in Mary's mind. It was something about the way he'd punctuated, 'I know' a second time that jogged her recall. She figured if he could bring this woman into their lives out of the blue, she could nudge a sensitive subject onto the table. She needed a reason to relate to him right now, especially if she ended up hating this Jill.

Mary started light, "You know, huh?"

Hunched shoulders and a nod, "I guess."

Mary suddenly wished Marshall were with them. It was an odd sensation, one that struck her without any warning. Usually, she preferred to deal on her own, but she was pretty sure the questions she was about to ask weren't the most tactful. He would do a better job being guarded, so as not to offend.

"Mark, what happened to your dad?" it scared her to say it so brazenly, but this just hurried her onward so the words wouldn't linger too long. "How did he die? Your mom said you weren't even very old when it happened."

Luck was on her side as she bit her lip and watched Mark's face for signs of incomprehension – even devastation. But, he didn't appear insulted or even thrown off guard. He seemed to understand since he'd mentioned Jinx, but Mary didn't miss the way he sighed and leaned his chin into his hands. The brown of his eyes turned wistful, making him look about fifteen years old.

Before speaking, she earned a most peculiar glance – like he thought she was clever or cunning; that she'd unlocked some sort of mystery. She didn't know what that was about, but resolved quickly that it didn't matter.

"He'd had this routine surgery –something on his leg; I can't remember now – but he developed a blood clot and they weren't able to help him in time."

For someone who obviously didn't enjoy talking about this, Mark had rattled the story off fairly naturally. Mary nodded, reasonably unenthused in terms of the level of tragedy, but that was before he went on.

"It was about five days before I was supposed to take my finals in college my senior year…" the pensive look intensified. "I didn't take them. I didn't graduate."

Now Mary understood, but it made her feel worse, not better. Wrinkles and creases formed in her face as she tried to calculate something of such magnitude. He'd never gone back and gotten his degree? Had there been no desire to? She'd not seen Mark for a long time after their short-lived marriage, and this had been his future?

With a sick twisting sensation in her intestines, Mary remembered all those times she'd accused Mark of not growing up and getting on with his life. Had he been so distraught over his dad that he couldn't?

"Mark…" she breathed, and could glean from his face he'd never heard her sound so sympathetic. "Why didn't you ever tell me this? That's awful…"

He shrugged, "The time never came up. You're not much for sob stories."

The guilt only strengthened, "But, Mark you're my…" the tiniest pause. "…You're my friend. This was a big deal. Why do you let me sit around and get on your ass about not being an adult?" The realization hit her quickly; she was an expert at putting the pieces together, "You dropped out of school to take care of Joanna, didn't you?"

A humble shrug, "Kind of." He launched into a bigger explanation, "Once she coped, we just didn't have the money so I could head back to college. I didn't have a really hard time getting hired – I was a business major anyway, and my dad was the one who taught me to work with tools. Thus the solar panels."

Mary didn't really have much to say to him – and she was never at a loss for words. But, she simply couldn't fathom that he'd had this colossal secret ruminating for so long. Now she knew, no matter how much she might hate it, she had to give Jill a chance. He'd been good to her about Jinx; there was repayment to be had.

"Does Jill dig the solar panels?" she offered a wink to show she'd learned all she needed to when it came to his dad.

Mark took it, "I don't think she cares one way or the other."

Mary nodded, accepting this answer, but her nodding carried them further; into words unsaid, nothing left to hash out. She could tell by the way his eyes shifted that, despite his 'sob story,' he knew she was still not comfortable with the 'new girl.' But, all she could do was try. She couldn't promise it would last, but he was also smart enough to quit while he was ahead.

"I should get going…" he jerked his thumb at the door. "I'll let you know about Jill. I appreciate the cooperation."

Mary continued bobbing her head, "Sure" as they stood up, chairs scraping over the noise of Alice's television program in the living room.

She walked him to the door, wondering if there were condolences in order, even so far down the road. She took a gander that would be too awkward, and settled for opening the hatch instead. Silence was best from her end if they wanted to keep the peace.

But, even as Mark stepped out onto the cold stoop, only the smallest piles of snow decorating the brown grass now, he didn't seem quite ready to go. His thanks hung in the air, and he knew not to push that, because Mary would stop being obliging and turn aggravated in a flash. He leaned in the door while she rubbed her arms to keep warm and tried to figure out how to send him off.

"If you…have any questions about her…" his voice trailed mildly, afraid to break the silence. "I mean, I'm happy to answer."

Mary knew he meant for the future, if she were to ever come up with them, but a very important one had sprung to mind. It might not mean living together, marriage, and step-parents, but it was essential nonetheless.

"Do you love her?"

Mark took it in stride and was honest, "I don't know. Maybe."

Mary was sure there was a joke to be had here – about his inability to commit and be tied down. But, now wasn't the instance to make it. Instead, she attempted an agreeable smile. It earned her a gag regardless.

"She's got nothing on you and Norah, kid."

This caused the ex-wife to laugh out loud, wondering how his beau would react if she'd heard that. It might be true when it came to Norah, but she was another story. He was simply being the shameless flirt he'd always been; a romancer at heart. She could only shake her head, and spared a moment to pretend to shove him in the darkness.

"I'll see you soon," was how she ended it; simplistic and sweet, shutting the door behind him.

Even so, she had to have known she wouldn't have a lot of opportunity to mull over the circumstances. She took her time getting back to the kitchen, but Marshall still got off the couch, kissing Alice's hair, and followed her. She occupied herself momentarily, clearing her dinner dishes, suddenly not wanting Marshall to question her sincerity. She didn't want to have to admit she wasn't fine with this, and have no concrete reason why.

"Couldn't help overhearing…" he declared after she finished blasting water in the sink.

"Yeah, you've gotten real good at that lately," she referenced her conversation with Brandi that afternoon, turning around and whipping a dishtowel in frustration.

Marshall let her stew for a minute, blowing out and lifting her bangs; wringing the towel in tight fingers. She was trying to come down off the wave; trying not to make a big deal, but now that Mark was gone it was starting to become authentic – not a sham.

"How do you really feel about this?" Marshall ventured tenderly, eyes tipped downward toward hers. "From what I could understand, you put up quite a good front."

Mary waited for him to say this was admirable, but he didn't. She cut to the chase, unable to let go of the death grip she had on the dishtowel.

"Why don't you tell me how I'm supposed to feel, and then I can act accordingly?"

Marshall readily shook his head, "There is no right or wrong way to feel. The important thing is that you acted mature and gave Mark your approval…"

"So, the important thing is that I _lied_?" Mary spat, swallowing hard when Marshall's eyes flicked to Alice, seeing if she'd heard.

"So, you're not comfortable with it?" he guessed after his glance.

A theatrical exhale, "I don't know what I am with it…" that much was perfectly true. "But, I know that I will snap if Norah falls in love with that woman like she fell in love with you. You're like another father to her, and if this Jill is…"

Marshall interrupted very sharply, "She will not be like Norah's mother," his voice turned somber and serious, and he stepped closer to her, but didn't initiate any contact. "_You're_ Norah's mother. And, I would've thought you wouldn't need reminding on this, but there is no one in this wide, vast universe that Norah loves more than you."

Mary continued to scowl, finding this a gross exaggeration, but an insecure part of herself appreciated that Marshall had thought to say it. Norah was extremely loyal to her; eager to please, eager to do the right thing. Nobody else got that kind of treatment from the child but Mary.

"Try not to muddy that pretty face with a frown yet…" Marshall suggested, throwing caution to the winds and tweaking her cheek. She loosened her clutch on the towel. "'Serious' is subjective. Nobody knows what Mark really means by that…"

"What; do you have bionic hearing?" Mary griped. "Did you memorize every word of that conversation?"

"I am an esteemed US Marshal, inspector…" he boasted proudly. "Nothing gets by me."

"Yeah-yeah…" she grumbled.

Marshall allowed that one to trail away into nothingness; into mere complaints and nothing more. He was studying her, trying to read her mind as part of her glare began to ease up. She wasn't thrilled, but she wasn't even mad at Mark. She was mad at the change. She hated change.

"I would try to keep yourself under wraps as best you can…" he eventually tossed out there upon her weakening. "Just some friendly advice. Norah will pick up on your signals, and you don't want her hating this woman – or Mark – from the onset."

"Don't I?" Mary shot back, but the quirky, raised eyebrows she got proved Marshall didn't buy a word of it.

She would buck-up. She didn't want to, but she would. Try as she might to deny it, she did trust Mark; it was just going to have to take her a lot further than normal. She might have to remind herself of his early misfortune regarding his father to evoke empathy in the days to come. As she'd already alluded to, they were going to need some common ground.

"Just sharpen those spidey senses, Mare…" a valiant shot at teasing. "You'll know whether she seems sound or not."

She couldn't help but be grateful in those seconds that she did possess the intuition to read other individuals like an open book. She'd been thankful for it all her life, it was true, but it seemed especially valuable right now. But, before she could kick start the old engines with even a rev, a yawning Alice came shuffling across the linoleum. She had her eyes shut and Mary didn't possibly see how she could find where she was going.

"Daddy, can you read me Llama-Llama now?" clamping on her yawn and blinking through weary eyes.

"What's this?!" the man put on his performance at once, slapping his hands to his face in mock-amazement. "Going to bed without being asked?! Not my Alice Mann!"

She giggled appropriately, "I'm tired…" she was forced to admit, and Mary knew this was because she'd been sick not so long before. "We finger-painted in school today…"

"Ah, that is pretty tiring," Marshall decided. "I suppose Llama-Llama will have to do."

He scooped his daughter from the ground with ease, holding her aloft in his arms. Mary watched her, as she always did, ring her hands around his neck and snuggle against his shoulder. Her daddy. Her hero.

"You want to sit in on the bedtime tale?" Marshall asked his wife. "I know I wouldn't be able to get to sleep without it."

Mary recognized the alluring glance in his beautiful eyes. He didn't want her to feel apart from Alice, just as she didn't want Max to feel apart from the group. As Jinx didn't want to feel distant from Mary. And around and around they went.

"Mmm…" she shook her head. "I'll join you in a minute."

Marshall was willing to accept it, but did go the extra mile since she wouldn't tag along. He prodded Alice with his chin, recalling her glance to Mary. She flashed her eyelashes, undoubtedly wondering what this was about.

"I want you to go give mommy a big hug before you go to sleep…" he instructed. "The biggest one you can manage. She needs it tonight."

Mary was forced to guffaw at this, but Alice never disobeyed a direct order from Marshall. And so, when he unwound her arms and made to pass her off to her mother, she didn't hesitate. With the tiniest of grins, she allowed herself to be enveloped in Mary's strong grasp, wrapping her legs around the second waist. Mary could feel her squeezing extra tight, clinging with her fingernails and she clung right back.

"That's a good one, Little Bit…" she praised in her ear. "I love you, okay?"

She and Norah had been taught the reciprocating phrase and she didn't hesitate, "Love you mommy."

Holding her so close, Mary couldn't help thinking about Mark and Norah – new families, new beginnings, life going on as it was often known to do. She could never feel disconnected from her eldest daughter, especially when they were so in-sync. But, in the here and now, it was nice – just for a moment – to have a child you only had to share with the person with whom they'd been made.

"You know you're my girl, right Alice?" she whispered, forgetting Marshall could see them. "Mine-mine-mine."

She said it partially to amuse, partially to feed that selfish need, but she ought to have known it would be the child who set her straight.

"And daddy's too?"

Mary closed her eyes and bathed in Alice's ability to share the love.

With a resigned laugh, "And daddy's too."

XXX

**A/N: Like I've said before, I rationalize almost everything when it comes to Mark. It is hard to paint him either positively or negatively when it comes to this situation; it's a tough adjustment no matter what – but happens to a lot of nuclear families eventually. Only two chapters to come!**


	30. Chapter 30

**A/N: I am glad you all reacted favorably to Mark's news! Since some of you thought he might be moving, I suppose the girlfriend does look a bit better!**

XXX

Mary felt like she was on-edge most of Wednesday. For one thing, it wasn't so easy to plunge recklessly into the realms of normalcy. For another, she kept waiting for Mark to say he was introducing Norah to Jill, although she didn't imagine that would come to pass that day.

She went to the office with Marshall in the morning, and although it was refreshing for awhile, it began to drag her down after lunch. A distinct sort of melancholy seeped into her chest, and although she'd worked through problems before, it quickly became one of those days she was glad to have someone lead her home. She didn't protest too vehemently when Marshall suggested they take the afternoon. Delia and Charlie could handle the rest, and he had a few things he could do at the house.

With the kids in school, there was every reason to believe their house would be empty when they approached it. On the contrary, Stan and Lia had let themselves in with their spare key, enjoying some of the leftover food in the kitchen. With a bit of a jerk back to reality, Mary suddenly recalled the fact that they were set to return to Washington that night.

"Hello you two…" Stan called upon seeing them enter.

Mary had the feeling he was about to go on, but Lia stopped him, "I really hope you don't mind our just barging in. Stanley insisted you've given him the green light many times before, but even so…"

"Oh, don't think anything of it," Marshall fanned a courteous hand as he joined them. "The old deputy has it right. Our door is always open to both of you."

"But not our _fridge_…" Mary deliberately grabbed whatever dish Stan was holding and examined it. "Green bean casserole…" she observed with a narrowed eye. "I guess you can finish that off. But if it were the chocolate silk pie, I can promise you…"

"I'd get a boot up my ass, I know," Stan finished calmly. "This thing is busting at the seams…" he indicated the refrigerator. "It was the least I could do to take it off your hands."

Mary could only shake her head at this remark, but chose not to comment further. It was Marshall who found dialogue easier while his wife pulled up the spare barstool at the island where Lia was already seated.

"I am curious what brought you in though…" he was forced to admit, Stan licking his fork clean while they remained standing. "In spite of the fact that Mary and I don't mind. What time is your flight?"

"A little after six-thirty," Lia answered. "We'll get in later than we'd like, and Stanley is back to the grind first thing in the morning."

"Burning the midnight oil, you know me," Stan proclaimed diligently. "Makes you feel alive; that's what I always say."

"Or a walking zombie," Mary contributed, swinging her feet beneath the stool. "One of the two."

Marshall took their old boss' dishes and deposited them in the sink while the shorter of their guests leaned against the cabinets, facing his former inspector and wife. Mary thought he was acting particularly lighthearted – more so than usual. He couldn't keep the bounce out of his feet, or the way his hands resided so effortlessly on his hips. It wasn't a guise Mary had been anticipating after a dreary day at the Sunshine Building.

"Was it tough getting back in the swing of things?" he asked the blonde woman, as though reading her mind. "I imagine it must've felt at least a little bit strange…"

Mary opted for a shrug, "Kind of," there was no need for games with these two. "My baby-sitter here decided we could call it an early day," she shot Marshall a flat expression, one that was somewhat less than ecstatic about being coddled.

Stan remained unconcerned, "You seem like you're doing a little better though…" he swore as kindly and honestly as possible. "It's probably nice to shake some of that tension off."

"It would be," Marshall responded in lieu of Mary, disregarding her displeasure of being doted upon. "But, my lovely wife is never one to allow the stress to evaporate completely." And before she knew where he was going, "We found out last night that Mark's been seeing someone he finds quite special, and the time has come for Norah to meet her."

Mary's initial reaction was to be angry at Marshall for spilling the beans, and she opened her mouth to voice her disapproval, but Lia and her passionate nature kicked into high gear.

"Oh, lordy…" she shook her head, clucking her tongue once or twice. "I'm sure she's a dear and all – Mark is so sweet – but there is never a moment you want to start dealing with something like that…" Mary was caught unaware by her apparent knowledge in this area, and waited for the rest. "My parents divorced when I was nine, and my dad met about six pie-in-the-sky airheads before he found the right one…"

"We're fortunate in that Mark seems to have held out for Miss Right," Marshall interjected so Mary wouldn't immediately begin to fret over this possibility. "I am certain Jill is up to our standards. Mary's just a little worried about how Norah might react…"

"Give it all away up front why don't you, doofus?" she cut in snippily, causing Stan to laugh at the nickname. "Start making me out to be some timid nut job."

Marshall knew she wasn't serious – not entirely – and chose not to feel slighted.

"I think she'll adjust," he informed the group at large, as though that settled the matter. "It might be tough in the beginning, but she'll get in the groove. She's a good kid."

That she was, Mary thought boldly. She was grateful Marshall had thought to mention it, and hoped his assessment of Norah's predicted attitude was on point. She could deal with a little uncertainty but, as she'd told Mark, didn't relish having to mend fences for months on end. She wasn't some family counselor.

"I'm sure you'll be an excellent little solider about it, kiddo…" Stan implied. And before Mary could pounce on the sappiness that was that statement, "But, I feel like you could use a less taxing bulletin at the moment. What do you say?"

What Mary had to say was that she was lost, "_You_ have something to tell us?" a glance from Lia to Stan and back again. "I don't know if I can take anything else, seriously…"

"Of course we can," Marshall refuted the downer and stepped away from the sink. He put his hand on Mary's shoulder and gently moved the pads of his fingers back and forth to soothe her. "What's one more?"

Mary couldn't honestly say that 'one more' piece of unforeseen information wouldn't put her over the edge. A week with the shock about Jinx, trying to mold Max, and field Mark's new lady love was quite enough. She was tired of discussions and startling events and having to lay everything on the table. It wasn't who she was, and she'd made the best of it, but it was time they called it quits.

Regardless of Marshall's acceptance, Stan didn't miss the sour vibe, "I'm not trying to get your blood pressure on the rise or anything, Mary…"

"We're hoping its _good_ news," Lia impressed, taking her turn at touching – Mary's other arm this time; the one that Marshall didn't have a hold of. "Not that we flatter ourselves so heavily or anything."

Mary didn't have any idea what that meant but, at the very least, Marshall's rhythmic compression of the bones in her shoulder was keeping her calm. She severely doubted it would last, but promising a cordial mind-set initially was as far as she was willing to go.

"Well, let's have it I guess…" she allowed lamely, feeling very much like a kid in time-out with everyone staring at her; trying to get her on board.

She was focused on Stan's eyes; brown, like Mark's, they held the same warm quality as the younger man's. But, his were different on some level. They swirled with a richness; a security Mary really didn't gain from anyone else. The closet would be Marshall, but in a more exclusive way. Stan's seemed more protective – a papa bear sort of eminence – and Mary could only guess it was because he'd been her boss for so many years. He'd known how to keep her in line.

"I suppose you two have noticed we've been spending a little more time down here than we can usually allow…" the eldest began. "In fact, I kind of wondered if it might tip you off…"

Mary glanced to Lia for clues, but she was grinning hungrily, like she couldn't wait for the secret to be out. She was the gossipy 'secret' type.

"There's a reason for it," Stan progressed, not addressing Mary's furtive gaze. "I've been deputy director in D.C. for almost ten years now…"

"We know that," Mary felt the need to interrupt, just to feel in-the-know, but Stan effortlessly skated over it.

"…It's one of those jobs where, once you get your feet under you, you can kind of do it from the road…" he explained. "I'd really only have to be in the office about a weekend a month to regroup. Everything else can come to me –wherever I am…"

"So, you're thinking of leaving D.C.?" it was Marshall's turn to stop him dead in his tracks. "That's substantial, Stan," he decided excitedly. "Where are you considering putting down roots?"

Mary had never known Marshall to be dim in his entire life, but this was one of those times she was joining him. She was too blown away by the idea of Stan leaving Washington, especially after Lia had gone after him three years before, the year before they had married. It was a big move in such a short frame of time.

Therefore, she was pretty much thrown off her chair when Stan gave a reply to Marshall's question – a devious, smug smile playing on his face all the while.

"You have an extra cubicle in the Sunshine Building?"

Marshall was faster. Mary heard the words come back to her on some kind of a delay. The Sunshine Building was here. Here in Albuquerque. Here at ABQ WITSEC. They'd have a deputy breathing down their neck twenty-four-seven by their own admission. A complete turn of events.

And what a miraculous turn of events it was.

"You can work from Albuquerque?" Marshall all-but exclaimed like some childish six-year-old.

"I can work from anywhere, chief!" Stan repeated. "As top dog, you better stock up on some listening skills."

Marshall just laughed; a booming, joyous belly-laugh, "So, you're coming home? Both of you?"

"That's the plan!" Stan matched him pound-for-pound in exuberance. "We stayed a few extra days to look at houses – what with Jinx and everything, we were able to stretch. We're planning on packing up the first of March."

"That soon?" Marshall was nothing short of flabbergasted; he'd let go of Mary's shoulder. "This is amazing! Now, that is quite a covert affair, old man…"

This earned chuckles from both Stan and Lia as Marshall left his post and shook his hand, chattering about how good it would be to have them back. Mary was thoroughly stunned, and was having her own out-of-body experience about the ordeal; perhaps a more emotional reaction than Marshall might've adopted.

She didn't understand it, but she felt her eyes welling with tears; could discern the sting and burn they elicited when she tried to keep them in. It was bizarre; she'd known for the past few days she'd been a little shaky after Jinx, but this was not something she'd anticipated.

So, stupidly she sat there, watching Stan give Marshall all his attention; discussing in not-too-many details where they could set him up at the Sunshine Building. She knew she was open-mouthed and vacant, but trying to keep a level-head did that to you sometimes.

"The girls will be _overjoyed_…" Marshall blundered onward, slapping Stan on the back. "Especially Norah – not that Alice doesn't adore you too, but…"

Even though her husband couldn't keep his mouth closed, Stan had finally given him the boot to focus on Mary. He undoubtedly noticed that she was glassy-eyed and maybe even a little bit fuzzy. She didn't want to start sobbing in front of their guests, even given everything she'd been through.

Stan definitely picked up on her earnest vision though; "I promise I'm not going to ask you to help us move or anything…" he ragged on her with narrowed eyebrows.

Mary thought, for a split second before she acted, that Marshall was going to be disappointed in her unenthused feedback. That was before she stood up, rushed the floor, and practically glided Stan into her arms. It was one of the most spontaneous decisions Mary had made in eons, but it felt right. It felt so fantastic, so gratifying to have something go her way. While attempting to function within so much change, the world had actually gone backward for once. And Mary was displaying her gratitude in the most jubilant way she knew how.

"I can't believe you'll be home…" she emitted in an ethereal voice that wasn't quite her own. She was so much taller than Stan he had to lift his heels to reciprocate the hug. "Do you want my desk?"

As soon as she offered, it slammed her back to the real world, painting quite a picture of the saccharine sap she'd turned into. Unfortunately, it was too late now.

"Well, aren't you sweet…" Stan said behind her, patting her back gently. "Really kiddo, I didn't think you'd be _this_ happy…"

Mary could practically hear Marshall schooling on the after-effects of death and haywire emotions, but he kept his mouth shut. Instead, she caught him smiling serenely while she wrapped up the embrace, nodding his approval of her very humane approach to the news.

"We'll figure something out," the Albuquerque-bound assured them, still baffling slightly in Mary's affectionate approach, even once they parted. "We have a little bit of time yet."

"Sure…" Mary pulled it together, making a silent note of her good fortunate that no one had seen her cry. "Yeah."

To distract from the woman's rickety display, Marshall came to bat with his usual intelligence, "Well, what about you Lia?" he asked of the only one who was still in their seat. "Have you lined up your old job?"

"No-no…" she waved an airy, unconcerned hand. "My old place closed down last year – when I left for D.C. it didn't have much of a leg to stand on."

Mary whipped around to face her, "I bet you won't have any trouble finding something new," she was just so generous today. "You've started looking, I guess?"

There was a pause; a pause that it took Mary a moment to register. She was still on a high from the big reveal being something so unbelievably fantastic that she didn't envision there was more. Stan had said it was news they would prefer, and he'd been right. So, why were he and Lia wearing knowing grins – impatient grins – that said they weren't finished? Mary probed them momentarily to figure out where this was going.

"Maybe we should wait and hash this one out another day…" Lia suddenly switched gears, obviously seeing Mary's face drop from euphoric to stricken. "After all Stanley, it hasn't been very long; I don't want to…"

"No, what?" Mary had no intention of looking like some basket case who couldn't handle the fine print. "What? Something with your job?"

"Don't tell us you want to join the Marshals," Marshall piped up, which earned nervous, tittering laughter from Stan and Lia.

Mary was back to being perplexed, but it was Stan who egged his wife to move forward, "We should get it all on the table today," he guaranteed her. "It'll give Mary time to think about it."

Now she was really confused, and becoming irritated that Stan was talking about her like she wasn't there. Fortunately, that didn't last long. Lia indicated the chair the inspector had slid out of, inviting Mary to regain her seat. Reluctantly, she did so. Even Marshall was quiet from where he stayed with Stan.

"What's going on?" she pressed, trying to get situated up high.

Lia was nearly as tall as she was, even though they were sitting down, Mary noticed. Her rich brown hair was the color of chocolate, and her eyes exactly the same in her deep olive skin. She could see the zeal and fervor dancing in the specks of white in her orbs. She never lost the opportunity to radiate positivity.

An anxious hand found Mary's knee as the smile remained.

"Mary, I was able to speak with your sister Brandi during your mother's wake – after the funeral…"

"Yeah…"

"And, I would not want you to feel in any way obligated or pressured…" she prefaced what was coming very politely, while Mary's mind worked furiously trying to figure out what she and Brandi would have to discuss. She found out quickly, "But, she said that neither one of you is sure what to do about your mother's studio…"

Jesus. She'd been blind. Completely blind. Of course.

"If you were not set on selling it and refunding the lessons, I would be honored to take up the classes Jinx had before she passed…" the hand, already so passionate, squeezed against Mary's flesh. "You and Brandi and I could work together on hiring a larger team for down the road. I have experience with ballet – it's not my finest art, I do admit…" a throaty laugh. "But I feel I could manage for awhile until we found someone with more expertise in that area. Then I could maybe open my own side of the studio; a little tango, a little salsa…"

Lia shrugged, her suggestions trailing away while she tried to keep her sunny persona. Mary knew it wasn't very likely she could read her features; _she_ wasn't even sure how she appeared right now. Part of it was overwhelming – to think of Jinx's studio being run by somebody else so soon. How would her mother feel about that? Would she feel replaced at the drop of a hat?

She must've appeared blank, because Stan stepped in, "It's just a thought, Mary. We weren't even sure if we should bring it up, but it was actually Brandi who thought it'd be a good idea…"

"She asked if I would raise the subject with you," Lia explained. "Just so you can make plans one way or the other – with or without me."

She certainly was accommodating, Mary reflected. Not to mention humble. She obviously did not want to step on any toes. But, Mary couldn't keep her worries from surfacing; not with all the palpable emotion so freely floating in the air.

"I don't know what to say…" she whispered. "Jinx probably wouldn't want anybody other than you taking over – and I know I wouldn't – but…"

She just shook her head, indicating her knowledge in this area wasn't the best. Stan came to her rescue.

"You don't have to decide right now, Mary…"

And Marshall, "We can mull it over, sure…"

Mary knew she was supposed to appreciate all the kindly efforts so she would not feel any strain or demands. But, looking at Lia and thinking of Jinx had her remembering Robyn – Robyn's adamant refusal to step down and stop playing her role as a dancer. Robyn, more than any of the other grandchildren, and embodied Jinx's spirit and sass. And she already loved Lia.

"The show must go on, right?" was her way of vocalizing this, feeding a sheepish smile to the group, wandering over their adjustments. "I mean, I can't think of any better solution…"

Even Marshall seemed surprised by her sudden shift in mood, but pleased as well. He knew when she was avoiding, and when she was just feeling headstrong in making a decision. Her quiet, calculating demeanor indicated it was the latter, although it was plain Stan and Lia were still skeptical.

"You sure you don't want to think about it?" she asked dubiously. "Really, there is no rush…"

Mary shook her head, "Brandi and I can talk to you about it this weekend when you're back in D.C. Those little ballerinas need you…"

And then, the most cliché statement she'd uttered in the past week, "Mom would've wanted it that way."

Both Lia and Stan nodded their approval, perfectly willing to take Mary at her word. Despite how confident she felt about it, the daughter knew she'd have to respond to, 'Are you sure?' about twenty more times in the weeks to come. Lia would want to make certain the decision wasn't too impulsive; evidently, losing a loved one had people thinking such a sensation was more likely.

But, today clearly was not the day to pull it apart, "Well, I'm certainly happy to accept," Lia claimed. "But, we will leave it here for today. I know how much you hate extraneous conversation, Mary…"

She flashed her a teasing grin and she reciprocated appropriately; she could even hear Stan laughing behind her. But, the motion of turning her mouth was the only thing Lia had left to give, and she stood up, smoothing the skirt she wore as she did so.

"Marshall, we picked up some gifts for Norah and Alice…" she segued, indicating sacks on the couch in the living room that Mary had failed to notice. "Come and see what you think; I wouldn't want disappointment on my hands…"

Mary was going to tell her the presents weren't necessary, but before she could, the pair had already gone, Marshall still smiling fondly at his girl in their departure. She'd already stood up herself and had planned to join them, when she realized why Lia had led him away. It was, for whatever strange reason, so she could be alone with Stan.

The way he shuffled into her inner circle with that genial look in his eyes proved it. He even slipped his hands out of his pockets, like he planned to pay back that hug she'd bestowed him with before.

"You really should not feel compelled to give Lia the job…" he pressed delicately. "Really…"

"I'm fine with it," Mary interrupted as politely as she knew how. "Come on. When do I ever say something I don't mean?"

She winked at him a little half-heartedly, and he ran with it only partially.

"You just decided so fast…"

"Well, when it's right; you know it," she was still responding quickly; almost too quickly.

Still though, it might hurt to be doing this and moving on at lightning speed, but Mary knew if she didn't do it now, she never would. If Lia were to ask in another week, she would hedge her bets and wave her away. The ability to run deepened the further she got, and while it did grant her some pain to toss off Jinx's livelihood; she knew this was their best option. Lia was the perfect match.

"Well, thank-you for being so nice about it…" Stan finally accepted, just as Mary was having what most would characterize as second thoughts. "You do seem a little fidgety, though," he observed while she crossed her arms over her middle. "Everything okay? Besides the Mark thing, I mean."

"Mmm hmm…" Mary hummed, burying the need to snap; to share those memories of Jinx in the studio; twirling around and loving every second.

The right thing to do. This was the right thing to do. She'd say it as many times as she needed, even if it included Marshall repeating it in the future.

The tight-lipped reply wasn't much of an answer, and Stan drove on, "Anything you want to…talk about?"

He had to have thought she'd say no. Mary always said no to beating a dead horse. But, having opened up to Marshall two nights before had unlocked her floodgates. It had gotten easier, with just a little bit of a push. She looked into Stan's temperate, deep brown eyes and saw the desire to help her. She couldn't turn it down.

"I miss my mom."

It came as a whisper. It was something she was going to have to get used to saying aloud. She missed that need Marshall had talked about – that need to be protected by someone older and wiser and more capable than she. It was hard to give that up, not to mention Jinx herself. The cackling laugh; the spur-of-the-moment decisions; the compassion and adoration of the kids, and of Mary herself.

Stan was nodding, "Yeah, I…I know, kiddo…" he patted her back again, hands soft and tender. "And I imagine you're missing your dad too."

What was he, a mind reader? ESP? The sixth sense?

Mary looked at him sharply, "Why do you say that?"

He didn't hesitate, "Because Marshall told me you've been having a hard time with him not being around. It's tough to be the only adult in the family, and you had to be the adult way before your time. You've earned your keep and had to keep plugging on anyway."

That was concise, Mary thought. How much had Marshall told him? She decided she didn't care.

"Well, sue me for wanting a parent, I guess," she shrugged with just a little smidgen of her usual sarcasm; if she was going to go bare, she might as well go all the way.

"Well, it's not easy, Mary…" he admitted. "And I know it's not the same as your mom or your dad, but you've got a guy who will protect you and keep you safe the minute you ask…" he flicked his bald head at Marshall, chatting on the couch with Lia. "You have got him until the bitter end."

Mary was forced to smile, knowing she hadn't given Marshall enough credit in this department. Just because he wasn't a parent didn't mean he didn't care – didn't mean he didn't want to make her life less complicated and more carefree. He wanted to give her everything. He always had.

Stan seemed to think her nod was her only reaction because forward he went, "And, I know I'm just an old goat that used to order you around and give you what for…" he smacked her forearm a little more roughly; a little more rugged. "But I'm watching your back too."

She didn't hesitate to respond this time, "Isn't that what a real dad does?" hushed and quiet; eyes sympathetic and yearning.

Stan chuckled, "I suppose so. And hey, now you're going to be getting that all the time…" he referenced the move with a reminiscent twinkle in his eye. "It's Christmas, right inspector?"

But for the first time that day, Mary had to disagree. She thought of two days before her seventh birthday when her father had walked out and returned only to bring more misery to an already mixed-up existence. She thought of the ninth day on that month when she'd turned that magic age and he wasn't there to share it with her. She thought of the news she'd gotten about Jinx, and how Mark had tried so desperately to make it better. She even recalled her and Marshall's anniversary, which they were nearing, when she'd walked down the aisle and said, 'I do.' And now, to pile it on, Mark's latest interest, and Stan's newest venture.

It had nothing to do with bounty and gifts and lights on a tree. It was the season of alterations. The season of change.

"No…" she whispered pensively. "It's not Christmas. It's February."

XXX

**A/N: I couldn't resist having Stan return. He fills an enormous void in Mary's life; the closest thing to a father she's ever had without James. Between his ability to come back and Lia heading up the studio; it was too perfect.**

**Only one chapter to go – a long one to wrap things up!**


	31. Chapter 31

**A/N: This is it, folks! The last long and lengthy chapter – not too lengthy, I hope! My sincere gratitude to all of you. I would not have been near as happy to post every night without each and every one of you.**

XXX

Thursday, to Mary's intense relief, was the day her life finally shifted back into the realms of ordinary – as ordinary as it ever was in the Mann-Shannon household. Stan and Lia were back in Washington, Brandi and Peter at work, and her and Marshall likewise. The kids went to school, and Alice complained heartily, as she was often known to do. Mary spent the better part of an hour not thinking about Jinx. At first, she wondered if it was wrong, but then she realized it would probably happen more and more as time passed by. It was difficult to cope with, but she could say for certain there would be no forgetting her completely. She was Jinx – a character and a mother, through and through.

That night, Marshall was putting Alice to bed while Mary started the dishwasher before turning in herself. She thought she might relax in the bedroom or even read with Marshall before going to sleep. Norah was clearing her homework off the island while her mother clanked the plates and silverware. They'd been silent for several minutes; no need to speak just for the sake of saying something.

Until…

"I met Jill."

Mary actually felt the muscles in her shoulders tense, and was grateful her back was to Norah while she bent over the dishwasher. That way, she couldn't see her panic-stricken face; one that she definitely needed to pull down before standing up.

This wasn't unprecedented. Mark had warned it might be today or tomorrow, but since Norah hadn't said anything all night, Mary figured Friday was the day. It seemed that little ice cream run after school hadn't been just the two of them.

Slowly, Mary straightened and, still slower, rotated with her back against the cabinets to face Norah. She was shuffling her papers inside her backpack, but her eyes didn't leave Mary's. She tried to read the signals in their deep, infinite brown; like the hole you could lose yourself inside, but still have a soft landing when you hit the bottom.

Aloof, "Really?"

The darkness was uncertain and tentative. It reminded Mary of when her little girl had been just that – a little girl; full of nightmares, questions about her mother's social life, and worry that Marshall was leaving them. Despite their innocence in the moment, there was a maturity as well. She might be doubtful, but it was also easier to form her own opinion.

"What'd you think?" Mary prodded when the look was all she received.

Norah shrugged, which she found predictable. She zipped up her bag and set it on the stool before turning around completely, resting her elbows on the chair behind her.

"Did you know about her?" she asked. "Did you know dad had a girlfriend?"

"Not until the other night," Mary revealed in truth. "He mentioned he might have you meet her today, but I actually thought it might happen tomorrow, since you didn't mention it…" she raised her eyebrows.

Norah shook her head, "I didn't know what I was supposed to say."

"And since when do you have trouble talking to me?" Mary rebuffed swiftly, sticking a hand on her hip. "There are no secrets between us, Bug. What'd you think of her?"

Norah was well-adjusted in the ways of Mary's take charge attitude, and it seemed the woman had fooled her into thinking this really was no big deal. It was nice to know her poker face had returned. It _could_ be useful on occasion, if not always advisable.

But, it seemed Mary wasn't going to get an answer right away. Norah left her school supplies at the island and stepped over to the sink where Mary was stationed. Her eyes were downcast now, and she twirled a strand of blonde hair around her finger. Mary was about to coax her on, when she just blurted out what she was obviously wondering.

"Do you want me to hate her?" the eyes flicked upward, and they were determined. "Because I will if you want me to."

Mary was unexpectedly touched by this weird brand of loyalty and her immediate thought was, 'Yeah, that'd be nice,' which she cursed herself for at once. She knew better. She had to be the mother here. One thing was obvious. If Norah was asking Mary's permission to hate her, she must not feel such animosity on her own. She must've liked her.

The elder shook her head, "No…" sweet and simple. "I want you to tell me how _you_ feel. I'm a tough broad, Norah. I can take care of myself."

The familiarity of those words on her tongue was invigorating. She might be uncomfortable with this scenario, but being able to function on her own again was fantastic – saying that phrase that had been embedded within from the very beginning. Back to normal, indeed.

"I guess she was okay…" a sigh; conceding defeat. "But, she's not like Marshall. I never felt like he had to _try_ to like me."

"She was probably nervous, love…" Mary patted her head. "She was probably afraid _you_ wouldn't like _her_…" she'd promised Mark, and she was living up to it. "It'll get easier if she sticks around. How did she and dad look together?"

Fortunately, this brought a smirk to Norah's lips and she eased up, "_That_ was pretty funny," she reported in a mocking tone. "He acted like an idiot in front of her – like the boys I go to school with. He must be crazy about her."

"Well, I kind of hope so…" Mary laughed, picturing Mark falling all over himself to please this woman. "Since he waited such a long time before you met her. It'll mean a lot to him if you give it a go, Bug," she didn't want to raise stipulations; it was simply a fact. "If you want, you can take Brandi or Robyn along next time; kind of break the ice. They're good at that, right?"

Norah smiled and nodded, knowing her aunt and cousin would be a great deflector for future meet-and-greets. But still, her daughter seemed unconvinced. She seemed to sense there was a certain someone being left out of this club on purpose. She was too smart not to realize.

"You mean…you wouldn't want to come?" the girl intoned in a low voice.

Mary sighed, knowing admitting this was going to be tough. She crossed her arms to avoid belittling Norah with babying gestures. She was grateful she had the cabinets to stand against – to stay upright.

"Jill is…kind of a 'dad' thing…" it was the best explanation she had. "I mean, I'll meet her at some point – give her the once over…" a brave attempt at teasing. "But, I don't need to be hanging around while you all make nice. You're growing up, Norah…" she emphasized. "Sometimes things change when you grow up. You can do this on your own."

While Mary did not like the idea of her child having a world that was separate from their own, it was quickly becoming a necessary evil. She thanked her lucky stars they had someone like Brandi or Robyn to bridge the gap on occasion, but she feared for the days of two camps – Mark, Joanna, and Jill in one with Mary, Marshall, and Alice in the other. The cousins and aunts mingling somewhere in-between.

"Did you ever have to do the two families thing?" Norah inquired upon understanding what her mother meant. "Since your parents were divorced."

It was a logical question, but Mary shook her head, "Not with my mom. She never really met another guy she fancied as much as my dad."

Although she rolled her eyes, it made her sad now.

"And, you know my dad wasn't around when I was a kid but it turned out he did have a second family," she revealed without thinking. "With three other kids in it that I didn't even know about – Scott and Lauren and another girl I never met," she flashed her a look of annoyance and admiration. "See how easy you have it, Bug?"

"So, wait…" Norah caught on quickly, pausing and looking cynical with her eyebrows hunched together. "You had another brother and sister out there – from your dad?"

A nod, "More or less. Wild stuff. My dad was never one for conventional."

It was odd to talk about him so freely, but she'd never wanted to put on a big show with James in front of Norah, despite what rattled around in her head.

Just to ease the little one's mind, "That isn't going to happen to you, Norah. You are all that Mark has," she promised. She put a hand on her shoulder, compressing, "And he loves you way more than any girl he'll ever met. I swear."

Norah didn't need reassurances on that, "He told me," she smirked. "I guess he thought I'd forget or something."

Mary had to laugh at the innocence of that statement. Even though Norah was ten, she still possessed some of the naive traits of a younger childhood; where you were convinced everybody adored you and that such a feeling would never change. It scared Mary that those days might be ending for her oldest daughter. At least she had Alice bringing up the rear on lives led on pure fantasies.

"How come you never told me you had other brothers and sisters?" now that the cat was out of the bag, it was clear Norah needed the more meaningful facets. "Where are they now?"

Of the two questions, Mary thought the second one was probably easier to answer, but that didn't make it painless by any means. As it was, there was no real reason she hadn't spoken about Lauren, Scott, and whoever the third Shannon-Griffin sibling was. Norah knew James could sometimes be off-limits, and that was that. But, with development came understanding; she suddenly realized.

"I only met Lauren once," Mary started with the simpler of the two tales. "And I didn't know we were related when she showed up. Jinx and Brandi knew, but they decided not to tell me."

Norah was fighting a laugh; Mary could see it twitching at the corners of her mouth.

"Really?" part of the chuckle snuck out anyway. "You scream at them when you found out the truth?"

"That isn't important…" her mother waved a disinterested hand. "She's living somewhere in Florida these days. I've talked to her a couple times, but we don't really keep in touch."

Fortunately, Norah didn't ask why that was the case – she could probably guess – and watched as Mary leaned one of her hands on the outer counter. It was a motion used to calm her nerves. These people weren't ones she was eager to discuss.

"So, you said you've never seen your _other_ sister…" the girl recalled, grinning a little mischievously now. Mary wanted to tell her not to label them siblings, but thought better of it. "What about your brother?" she ventured. "Where's he?"

As Mary pondered the sudden sadness of the child's devious probing, she found herself shrinking a little further into the cabinets. It wasn't exactly her brightest side, but she hardly ever thought about Scott. He was a little bit of a touchy subject with Brandi and she wondered, vaguely, if Robyn and Max knew about him. Max possessed his name between first and last.

"Well…" she sighed, drumming her fingers now, contemplating if this would upset Norah at all. "He came along about…" she did the math quickly in her head. "I guess it was about two years before you were born. Brandi hunted him down."

She attempted not to say it with trepidation, and Norah urged her forward, "And?"

"And…" a shrug; an exhale. "They got along really well. He even lived here for awhile, but then he went home to Miami."

Mary had thought Norah might ask if she'd liked Scott, but she didn't. The mention of Florida a second time took her thoughts a different direction.

"So, he's there now? You don't see him either?"

It was stupid, really, for Mary to think Norah would be in any way affected by Scott's death. She'd never known him. They had little to no connection. It was more the way he'd bit the dust. It had been so senseless; the closest you could get to unnecessary. James' transgressions had been what had landed his son in such a mess.

"He actually died, Bug…" an attempt at being frank, almost without warning. "About ten years ago. Around the same time as my dad."

Almost the exact same time as her dad, more like.

Her daughter did seem a little surprised. She blinked with an air of incomprehension, brows creeping together with confusion.

"He died?" she questioned in a soft voice. "But, he's younger than you, isn't he?"

This was a smart kid. She'd figured out all her own that Mary, despite the extraneous children, had to be the oldest, followed by Brandi and the rest of the unknown brood. She knew just enough about James to put the pieces together.

"Yeah…" Mary was forced to agree. "It was…kind of an accident…"

Not really.

"When my dad showed up here when you were a baby, he kind of screwed things up for everybody," she was forced to admit. "Scott got caught in the crossfire. I actually thought he might; I offered to keep him safe, but he wouldn't let me."

Norah nodded, while Mary reevaluated the way she might have come across. She'd tried to be forthright without a lot of excess drama. They'd all had enough of that, after all. At the same time, she couldn't help mulling over Scott's existence a little more closely now that he'd come into play. Had he survived, he likely would've come to Jinx's funeral – for Brandi, if no one else. Then again, if he were still alive he might've been tagging along after the youngest Shannon for the past ten years. Norah would've known him as another uncle.

What ifs didn't help anything.

"Well, that's good you tried to help…" was Norah's diplomatic reaction to the turn of events. "But, it's really sad that he died. Brandi was probably upset."

"Mmm hmm…" Mary hummed, chewing on her thumbnail in her trademark nervous habit. "What do you say we get back to Jill, huh?" a bitter laugh. "My mixed-up family isn't anything you need to hear about right before bed."

"Well…" she turned back to the barstool, comfortable with Mary's request. "I guess that makes me mixed-up too, right?" a smirk.

"Touched in the head…" Mary leaned over and pressed her palm to Norah's forehead with just a slight push, and she staggered backward toward the island with a giggle. "We Shannon's know insanity, right?"

This was an excellent segue back into present day, reminding them both of the separation between Stuber and Shannon – between Shannon and Mann. Mark, Alice, step-fathers, and forgotten siblings; all of it had managed to meld the way Mary believed it was supposed to. She could only hope Jill added to the disorder rather than enhanced it.

"I'm going back to my room…" Norah announced, through with digging deep; the inner 'Mary' that lived in her soul cutting off the crap. "I told Alice I'd be there before she went to sleep."

Mary found that her fondness for this kid only grew with each passing second. She'd known what it was like to have an attention-seeking, younger, cuter, more dazzling baby sister. Norah dealt with it much better than Mary had.

"You've been real good to her this week…" she vocalized in recognition. "It's been a big help while I've been dealing with Jinx."

Norah pondered on the mention of her grandmother for a moment, blinking and seeming to fall back in memories of better days and simpler times, with her mother's recognition that she still lived in that world on occasion. It was hard to lose someone; whether you'd been thick as thieves or mere acquaintances. It was hard to admit that life still went on.

"It's gonna be really strange for awhile – without Jinx," Norah clarified as she picked up her backpack to tote it to the bedroom. "I bet this sounds weird, but I keep expecting her to stick her head through the front door. Since she never knocked."

Mary followed her through the kitchen and down the hall, unable to help herself from rumpling her gold streaks, which Norah didn't even seem to notice. Her and her mother might be two peas in a pod, but she'd never minded touch the same way that Mary did. It was one trait the parent was glad she had not adopted. They all needed some hand-holding once in awhile.

"It doesn't sound weird," Mary found herself agreeing almost against her will. "That was part of Jinx – assuming that if she came to call, everybody would want to see her. And knocking was a waste of time."

Norah laughed with ease, and Mary did the same. It took her a second to realize that it was the first time in weeks that she'd laughed because something was funny – not out of disdain, or out of sarcasm, or because she felt the need to impress. She'd actually been able to recall a mannerism of Jinx's that brought her joy, rather than sorrow or distress. She had Norah to thank for that.

"I will miss her…" the child concluded as they reached her door and she paused, backpack hanging off one shoulder. "Jinx, I mean."

"Yeah…" Mary nodded quietly, her eyes on Alice snuggling into her blankets on the top bunk; Marshall already gone. "We all will. Its how she would've expected it to be too."

With that, Norah resumed the ascent into her room, dropping the bag on the ground in whatever space was free. Mary could see through the slats on the upper loft that Alice wasn't asleep. She was peeking through the empty space, watching to see if anyone noticed she hadn't closed her eyes. While Norah went to the dresser to find pajamas, Mary strode to the opposite end of the room and climbed the ladder.

She felt decidedly foolish; she was nearly as long as the ladder itself and only had to step two rungs before she could lift herself the rest of the way. She sprawled on her belly, nearly crushing Alice, but she was obviously tickled by the turn of events and giggled.

"Mommy, what are you doing?" she shrieked with delight. "You're too tall to be up here!"

She was right, of course. If she weren't spread on her stomach, she'd have hit her head on the ceiling. As it was, her feet hung over the edge, but she was already close enough to peck Alice's cheek, and she didn't hesitate for a minute.

"I decided I couldn't turn in without saying goodnight," she proclaimed while Alice batted her eyelashes and blushed at all the affection. "Did daddy read your story?"

"Uh-huh…" Alice nodded, her brunette locks spread all over the pillow. "It was a good one too – Green Eggs and Ham."

"What a classic…" Mary mused. "Be a good girl in here, all right? You know I love you Little Bit." And then, "Just as much as daddy does."

She wasn't sure what made her say it. After all, it was really her that had the issues; the wondering about whether her adoration ran as deep for Norah as it did for Alice, even though she knew it to be true. She just remembered being worried that Jinx hadn't seen the good in her when she was younger, and didn't want Alice to feel the same way.

"I love you too, mommy…" her baby sang as the mattress below made a thump, meaning Norah had gotten under the covers. "I hope you're not still really sad about Jinx. Daddy's been trying to make you feel happy again."

Mary again had to contemplate what sort of ideas Marshall had filled these girls' heads with, but she supposed it worked no matter what. They were healthy and satisfied and had two parents that loved them – and even more than that, in Norah's case.

"I guess I'm still a little blue…" Mary admitted, smoothing the ringlets across the pillow. "But, I'll get there someday."

Alice probably didn't understand what that meant, but she harbored it regardless and snuggled further into her blankets. Mary laid one last kiss on her forehead before she backed down the ladder, extremely careful not to miss a step and land collapsing backward on the carpet.

Once she reached the bottom, she gave Norah a brief farewell for the road.

"Night Bug…" she kissed her hair, suddenly recalling, as though from a past life, the days when this had just been her room.

And then the days before that, when it had been a nursery. Further back still, when she'd classified it a 'junk room' for items that had no place to call home. And finally, at its origin, a guest room for Scott, Brandi, and Jinx in their rockiest days.

How far they'd come.

"Night mom…" her daughter reciprocated, not knowing what was ruminating in her brain. "Love you."

"Me too…"

Mary made her way to the door to flick out the light and when she did, it left the room swept in darkness. You could only make out the shapes of the dresser and bunk beds, and if you looked very closely, the image of two chests rising and falling with serene breaths of life. Mary heard the rustling of Alice getting situated on top, and Norah rolling over on her side. They were quiet and content. They were good girls, no matter how much sparring might intervene.

Mary was so busy basking in their worth that she almost didn't hear Norah whisper through the gloom; the door was half-shut.

"Mom?"

A creak to reopen; a head through the frame.

"Yeah?"

She had elbowed up, her matted hair shaken down her back. Mary could see, even through the shadows, that her eyes were wide and she was resolute. She had to get it out.

"I might not hate her…but she'll never be as awesome as you."

Jill.

Mary emitted a soft chuckle, shaking her head. Only her ten-year-old would say such a thing. And she'd probably regret it one day. But, in the here and now, it was the most thoughtful gift she could ask for.

"Thanks Bug…" was all she said. "Goodnight."

Even as she shut the door, however, she found herself sticking around, hand curled around the knob. Norah's words played over and over in her brain as she listened through the wood, curious to see what the girls did once a parent left the room.

It was silent at first; nothing to glean whatsoever. Mary almost chastised herself for thinking she could hoard anything more in terms of sweetness and unbridled sincerity. Marshall was waiting, after all.

But then…

"Norah?"

"What?"

"Are you asleep?"

"What do you think?"

Mary grinned, shaking her head at the pair of them. Alice's voice was hesitant, not wanting to rile big sister. Norah's was deliberately annoyed, knowing if she didn't put on a little bit of frustration she would never get rid of Alice.

"I just wanted to ask you something," Alice persisted, trying to sound innocent.

"Hurry up," Norah's tone altered from aggravated to obliging, despite the word choice.

Alice abided, "Do you think mommy's still sad?" she rattled off quickly, and Mary heard the covers rustle again. "I tried to ask, but she didn't really tell me…"

Mary's heart dipped a little, feeling badly she hadn't recognized her daughter's query, but she ignored the shame to listen to Norah's response.

"She's better…" the older of the two swore. "I promise. Go to sleep."

"Yeah…" Alice disregarded the curt afterthought, and despite the shortness of reassurance, it was clear that was all she needed. She needed someone older, more experienced, and more intelligent then she was to help her figure everything out. "She's lucky she's so brave. She's not afraid of anything."

The feeling of adoration only increased for Mary, having little to no idea that Alice had felt so strongly about such things. It did her heart good, after so many worries concerning her and her youngest daughter's relationship. It appeared Alice's rationale was enough for Norah too, because they put an end to the conversation.

"Yup…" the blonde proclaimed. "That's mom. Now, go to sleep," she repeated.

"Okay…" Alice was quick to agree this time. "Night-night Norah. I love you."

Mary very nearly swooned with how quickly the reply came.

"I love you too, Alice."

Contemplating her children's fierce, undying devotion had a reluctant smile on Mary's face as she left the girls and went to join Marshall in the bedroom. When she opened the door, he was reading a book atop the covers, his ankles crossed. It reminded Mary of the time she'd walked in on him the night after Norah had gone missing; she'd had that same, lingering sense of peace then, just as she did now.

What made it different was the gift bag sitting in her usual place on the bed. She wished to be exasperated about his attempt to be 'sneaky' but thought better of it. The winning smile he sent her as he stretched changed her mind.

"Hello…" he waggled his fingers as he put his book down. "Girls all tucked-in tight?" he wanted to know.

Yet again, Mary was reminded of the evening they'd gotten Norah back, only he'd been referring to she and Robyn that time – Alice had just been a bulge in her belly.

"Down for the count," Mary reported, choosing not to reveal their exchange. And leaning against the back of the door, she pointed, "What is that supposed to be?" she crinkled her nose at the sight of the bag. "And why is it purple?"

Marshall gave a deceitful smirk, "Because of the two more feminine colors, I thought you would prefer purple to pink. Am I right?"

"And why did I need a bag with 'feminine' colors?" her fingers formed air quotes as she ventured over. "What's the occasion?"

She already knew, but she enjoyed the sort of games they played. Instead of merging on the bed right away, she went to the top drawer of the dresser and rooted absently inside.

"We delayed Valentine's Day last weekend…" he reminded her. "I feel it is time to commence with the lace and hearts before we reach March."

Mary stretched her hand way back in the drawer, groping with her fingers for the bag lying sideways.

"And what makes you think I have anything for you yet?" she tried to convince him, glad he couldn't see her expression. "I told you we couldn't do this until I did."

"Alice gave up the ghost," he announced without beating around the bush. "I managed to stop her before she actually told me what I was getting, but I know there is a present waiting in the wings. Why else would you be diving and fumbling amongst the delicates?" it was her underwear drawer, and she scoffed at the phrasing.

"I guess I'm not much for undisclosed information these days…" she admitted, hands crunching around the sack at last. "Better rethink that Marshal position."

She whirled around to face Marshall, dangling the bag on its two strings; a dainty, delicate size that couldn't possibly rival the medium one on the bed. Hers was a rich, deep crimson, and she hadn't gone out and bought it. She had unearthed it in the trappings of Brandi's gift-wrap drawer. One present was enough, right?

"But, you know I hate gushy couple moments, Poindexter…" she reminded him, and once she was close enough to the mattress, she threw him his present, which he easily caught.

She swept the second sack to the side so that it bumped into Marshall's outstretched legs and settled down, back against the headboard. She had to have known that wouldn't last though, and Marshall was quickly pulling her in at the neck, running his fingers through her wavy tresses. The kiss was humdrum at that point, but more in the predictable sense; it never lost its shine.

"Happy belated Valentine's to you…" he resonated sweetly once they were eye-to-eye once more; hers a serious jade, his a magical blue. "Better late than never."

"You know I would still pick 'never' if you let me…" Mary quipped with a tilt of her head, still feeling his long fingers on her collar. "It's a Hallmark holiday; for those retail hounds to cash out, one-by-one every February."

"Not entirely…" he interrupted with a pointed, bookish finger. "Saint Valentine was a real person. He was jailed for performing weddings for soldiers who would otherwise be forbidden to marry…"

"Here we go…" Mary muttered under her breath, shaking her head, but it did not deter Marshall.

"The more romantic portion of the holiday flourished out of Geoffrey Chaucer when the custom of courtship began to blossom," he finished proudly.

Mary was still wagging her head with a would-be-irritated smirk, but she couldn't take her eyes off him. There was something wonderfully common about this. Although the snippets of normalcy were few-and-far-between since Jinx, she couldn't deny she appreciated them more thoroughly than she ever had before. Marshall spouting off his wealth of intelligence was definitely among them.

"You must really think I'm feeling fit…" she remarked as she leaned her head on the pillow and stared up at him lounging above. "To start feeding me full of useless shit like that."

"A civic duty, I like to call it…" he inclined his head nobly.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that…" a snide comeback. "But, before we get started here I should mention – turns out Norah _did_ see the great educator today."

"Ah…!" Marshall sat up a little higher, making him appear even taller. He, for one, seemed excited, "And, what is the consensus?"

Mary shrugged, knowing it was essential to share with Marshall, but not wanting to hash it out tonight. He would understand that. He wouldn't press the issue if she kept things succinct and brief.

"You know Norah…" she fell back on her daughter's heritage. "Most of the human race is at least, 'okay.' Jill got the same treatment, it would seem."

"Well, that's a good beginning…" Marshall decided. "A start."

"Yeah…" Mary whispered, unable to leave out the rest completely. "She made a point of telling me she doesn't think Jill rates anywhere near as high as you or me, though. Seems I picked a winner."

She poked him in the chest, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. Fortunately, he knew closure when he heard it. The compliment paid to the both of them was her way of indicating the matter closed. She was lucky – very lucky – to have found someone who knew her that well.

"Seems you did…" Marshall repeated, abiding to the unspoken shut-down at once. "Let's see what a winner I am when you open that gift."

As Mary laboriously retrieved the sack from between them, she couldn't help but marvel in what might actually be inside it. She was not the easiest person to shop for, and wasted no time reminding Marshall of this fact when he hounded her for ideas at Christmas. She had never been much for a lot of profuse and abundant packages with all the trimmings. Her liking to gifts was on the quiet side; mementos and treasures suited her just fine.

Pulling the tissue paper from within, she fished for some small talk so there would be no awkward silence.

"I'm not sure why I'm going first…" she noticed as Marshall watched her lovingly. "Since I'm not exactly the lady in this relationship."

She cast him her best conceited leer, wondering how he would take the back-handed insult, but as with so many other things that night, he was recognizing what it had taken them to get back in the swing of things. A breakdown, hearts laid bare, new people in their lives as well as old ones returning were only a few.

"If I were you, I'd be preparing yourself," was Marshall's lone response. "I think I outdid myself on the charms this year."

It wasn't like him to brag, but Mary had just stumbled upon her cache, and found there were not one, but two packages inside. The first one she pulled out was a plain black box covered in imitation leather; like an outdated jewelry chest. It fit in the palm of her hand, and looked well-worn. The second was something small and rectangular, nestled in folded cloth, perhaps so it wouldn't break.

"Marshall…" Mary turned suddenly solemn, not having expected a duet. "I only got you one thing. Why did you get me two?"

She didn't need to feel like she had short-changed him, especially when she considered what an enormous plus he had been in her life the past week – and always. He put up with her poor outlook, her snappish demeanor, her closing herself in and refusing to share when he'd desperately wanted her to. Then there were all the other things she'd inflicted upon him; the unwillingness to marry, for starters…

"I don't deserve two things…" the box went slack in her hand. "I don't even deserve one…"

"Now-now…" Marshall extended his palm to shut her up, speaking in soothing tones. "Don't say that," it wasn't an order, but it was close. "We are husband and wife. It is Valentine's Day. We vowed to go through thick and thin together, so do not act like our having a few rough patches means I should be banned from purchasing souvenirs."

It was a difficult line to argue with, but Mary still didn't feel right about it. Her doubts must've shown on her face, because Marshall hastened to accept any kind of reply.

"Look, I didn't even have to pay for this one…" he indicated the black carton. "It didn't cost me a penny, and I can't return it. So, we are even if you ask me."

Now Mary was curious. She was never one to lose her mind over presents, but the fact that he'd acquired something free of charge was piquing her interest. He wasn't the cheap one in their marriage.

"Open it…" he urged. "Come on."

Reluctantly, with one last suspicious search of her eyes, she pried the top of the box free, and quickly felt alarm, astonishment, and warmth spread through her chest all at once. It was a disorienting combination, especially once the heavy onslaught of emotion invaded as well. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. Initially, she thought it might be new – a remake, a replica. But, the longer she stared, the more she realized it was hers; the dings in the metal had been there for a long time. There was no mistaking it.

Staring back at her from this miniature dome was her father's necklace. The Virgin Mary twinkled on its pedestal, even though most of the polish had faded in its many years. The medallion still seemed to shimmer, even at upwards of fifty years old. The dullness of the once miraculous and glistening yellow did not bother her in the least.

Flummoxed, she turned to Marshall, who had a soft, albeit anxious smile on his face. She just gazed, her mouth gaping as she shook her head and tried to form the words she wanted to get out.

"Where did you get this…?" a whisper, which sounded foggy and murky already. "It was evidence. The FBI wouldn't turn it loose; it's been in a Ziploc bag at headquarters for ten years…"

"I have been trying to get them to relinquish the thing forever…" Marshall explained, resting a gentle hand on her knee with a light squeeze. "And, with Stan in town this week, he was able to strong-arm some big wigs over there…" Mary didn't miss the sense of accomplishment that surged through his tone at this, even in her muddled existence. "James is long gone, and apparently most of his cronies are too. They conceded it was time to part with it. It's yours."

And he gestured at that little circle, as though to prove it. Mary was still bowled-over beyond belief. For one, she never thought she'd see the necklace again. For another, she was faintly embarrassed. Did it say something about her that she had been hankering for this tiny scrap of metal all along? It was the Jinx versus James guilt all over again.

"I'm…" she swallowed, trying to put some of this into a coherent thought. "I'm…"

He just waited patiently, silently holding out. His stunning blue eyes held every measure of compliance; they were so soft and so engaging; the way they pulled her inward and gave her hope. He just wanted her to be happy.

"Thank-you…Marshall," she finally croaked out. "I just…"

There was going to be a clarification of her feelings – of her craving – to come, but Marshall beat her to it. The hand on her knee moved upward and patted once, and then twice. With each new sentence that spilled forth, a steady thump came down on Mary's thigh; reinforcement that he spoke the truth.

"If you like it…" he whispered. "And if you want it, and if it makes you feel better, and if it makes you feel closer to him or to Jinx…" it was a lot of preamble, but Mary needed to hear it. "And if it gives you the strength to stand up like the heroine you are…"

An exaggeration, but Mary had to smile so the tears wouldn't fall.

"Then you should wear it," he ended evenly. "Don't worry about what it means or what somebody might think."

Mary wanted to tell him this was easier said than done, but came to find that the only opinion that mattered to her anyway was Marshall's. He obviously held no reservations about this, and so she knew she could be content with it as well.

"Did you get Norah that necklace on purpose?" she asked as he unchained the medallion from its post and undid the latches in back. "Were you trying to tell me something?"

"Yes and no…" Marshall stated honestly, reaching around her hair to place the jewel around her neck. "I really did not know at that point if I was going to be able to acquire this one or not…" he told his tale. "In any case, I wanted you to have something like it – something to remind you. Something to share with Norah."

Mary, strangely, liked the idea of her and Norah matching, even though twin necklaces weren't something she would've usually relished. In the present climate, with Mark and this Jill coming into the picture, it was nice to have that unspoken connection – that symbol her daughter was still a Shannon, through and through.

Marshall secured the hooks and let the gold swing down on Mary's chest; it's misplaced home for the last ten years. He nodded approvingly at his handiwork, glad not to have heard an objection to his stipulations on wearing it and wearing it with dignity. It was the piece of her past his wife needed to keep her in balance.

"I know you're still hung up on him, Mare…" he bounded on, another attempt to justify his motives. "Just, hung up on how you feel and whether you're supposed to feel that way or not – and Jinx's opinions on all of it…"

Mary nodded, fantasizing with the thought that Marshall was about to map out the rest of her life for her. He seemed to have everything figured out; an answer to all her problems.

"But, I think those letters in Jinx's desk prove she considered him a part of your lives too…" he said that to make her feel better, and she appreciated it. "She didn't throw them out, after all. She had to cling every now and then, and so do you. Every now and then is okay."

For the first time in a long while, Mary suddenly began to believe 'every now and then' really was 'okay.' It was acceptable; it was normal; it was part of who she was. And, according to Marshall, it was part of who Jinx had been too. She shouldn't have kept her fears from him for so long.

"Jinx used to say that when all the stars were lined up just right; when the planets were in motion; he could be the best husband and the best father anyone could ask for…" Mary shared; placing her hand on top of the one Marshall had left on her leg. "I'm pretty sure that was an 'every now and then' kind of thing, right?"

Marshall bobbed his head, "Exactly right," and turned his hand around so it could hold hers. "Remembering the good – few-and-far-between or not – is all any of us can do."

It was Mary's turn to nod, feeling liberated by the ease in the conversation, and Marshall had suddenly turned scheming once more. His 'Santa's coming down the chimney' look had returned, and Mary was quick to remember that she had another present to open.

"Speaking of Jinx…" he motioned toward the rectangle secluded within the cloth. "Why don't you see what's behind door number two?"

The mention of Jinx coinciding with the gift spurred Mary on, and she grabbed the square and unraveled the supple lining; it's protection to fragile confines.

Mary knew at once it was a frame, but it was backwards. Its wood was maple; a dark red that was nearly brown, but the hint of crimson still lingered. It was small, perhaps only a four-by-six, but that was because of the picture it contained.

Holding back the tears was going to be a lot tougher on this round. Her own six-year-old face grinned cheekily out of the glass, and beside her was Jinx; identical yellow dresses on their much younger outlines. The kitchen was there; the buoyancy was there, so palpable Mary could practically feel it radiating within the transparency, waiting to be set free. It was the picture she'd kept from the shoebox of visitation photos; the only one that had been discovered of her and her mother.

"You seemed to like it so much…" Marshall uttered, watching her lip quiver at the people buried beneath; lighthearted times from days past that could never be replaced. A parent who was alive; a parent showing in her gorgeous smile that she had a daughter she was proud of. "I thought it would be nice to have it framed," her husband enlightened amidst the heartrending emotion in Mary's soul.

She could only nod to show her appreciation, but Marshall understood the loss for words. He guided her in closer, still holding her hand, but using his free arm to pull her effortlessly under his chin. He dropped a tender kiss on her hair and stroked the strands falling down her back while she allowed only a few tears to sneak onto her cheeks.

"I love it…" she swore, probably the first time she'd been completely truthful when speaking about one of his presents. "I really love it." And then, what she actually meant, "I love you."

"And I love you," he repeated quietly. "I hope it won't bother you too much to look at it."

"No…" she shook her head beneath him, a sweet and kindly quality to her voice. "I want to see it. I need to remember her happy, right? I need to remember _us_ happy. Isn't that what you said?"

"I believe it was something of the sort, yes," Marshall agreed. "There are plenty of festive times we can reflect upon in the days to come. This is just one of them."

Mary concurred, "I think this…" she tapped the frame with her nail. "Will remind me to try and remember the rest."

'The rest' being Jinx's bliss over her grandchildren; the way she'd always sought to comfort her daughters when they were in trouble; her purpose in teaching little girls to dance. Not the drunken days; not the fear; not the irresponsibility. They could wipe that aside if they needed, and Mary was sure they would.

Marshall's answer in the middle of caressing her hair was short, "I sure hope so."

They sat that way for a few minutes, no rush or hurry to move on. Here in his arms, head in his chest, she basked in the unbelievable good fortune she had to have found a man who understood her every want and every need, no matter how seemingly insignificant or foolish. He'd done everything in his power to bring her the parents she had lost when she'd been yearning for them most. He was her Superman. He could fix everything with the smallest, most thoughtful gestures. She never wanted to let him go.

But eventually, her eye caught her miniscule bag discarded on his lap, and she knew it was time to reciprocate. Still within his embrace, she took it up and nudged it against his chest.

"Your turn…" a whisper. "Although, I hardly think this is as consequential as what you got me," she used the big word on purpose.

"Oh well, I beg to differ…" always the gentleman. "I am sure I will love it. Alice certainly believed so."

Mary slipped out of his intertwined grasp to watch him repeat her movements; handling the tissue paper and fingering for the big prize. While he was working on it, she offered a preview.

"Well, it's kind of from me and the girls…" the mention of Alice had triggered the sample. "Since I never know what to get for you anyway."

"Well, a joint effort from my ladies is my favorite kind…" he stated without hesitation. "Let's see here…"

He yanked and then proceeded to chuckle with his reveal. Mary observed him with bated breath, viewing him rotate the ceramic coffee mug in deepest navy with the children's scrawls, drawings, and more pinpointed letters in the center. Mary knew it was possible he was feigning pleasure for her benefit, but something deep inside doubted it.

Tracing with his finger the largest and most vital phrase, "Number one dad."

Mary was quick; "It's cheesy, I know…" she certainly would've thought as much. "But, it's not just about me and Alice and even Norah…"

The eldest had signed too. Alice had been able to trace her name with white in huge letters across the back, complete with a light pink heart. Norah's was smaller, less demonstrative, on the edge opposite the handle. But, Marshall was paying no attention to the names now and instead wanted to see where Mary's story was headed.

"If it's not about you and the girls, then what is it about?" he ventured. "I love it, even without some deeper meaning."

He would, Mary discerned. He'd adore anything the three of them presented; they were his whole life. But still, juvenile signatures on a glossy coffee cup weren't the only intention here.

"I just wanted to show you…" Mary wasn't much for moving people, but this was important. "That, even though I have these lingering issues with _my_ dad…"

He'd let go of her hand to open the sack, but Mary found herself picking it up again. It made her feel safe, and the realization was the push she needed to keep going.

"I know he was not exactly world's greatest," she confessed. "_You_ are. I look at those girls – I mean, one of them isn't even yours – and I see me and Brandi. The age span and the personality; it's frightening how similar it is sometimes," she rambled on. "But, I would not trust them to anybody but you. And, I know Norah has Mark and that he's fabulous but…" a shrug to wrap things up. "Nobody tops you in the dad department. And, I wanted you to know that I see it – every day. You are ten thousand times the father mine was."

With a deep breath, Mary waited for what was coming next. She half-expected him to refute most of her declarations; to say James had been different, and that was all right. To say he was just an amateur and did his best; she didn't need to bow down to him. Marshall was as humble as they came.

Nonetheless, he surprised her. Although, his preferred speech was still one of the most modest in the book.

"Well, to be a father you have to have a mother…" calm and cool as the ocean tide, and eyes to match, he palmed her forearm with affection. "And that is where I am grateful every day that you're the one I get to share Norah and Alice with. I couldn't do it without you."

Mary thought they had probably run their limit on schmaltz for the evening, and decided to take the compliments for what they were. She simply jerked her head at his mug and tried to smile.

"A happy Valentine's Day to you, doofus…" less-than-charming, but he knew his girl. "It's been quite a February. Something tells me it is a month I'll have to slog through every year."

She wasn't very poetic in her ending, but Marshall gleaned her gist and set his cup on the bedside table. She saw where this was going and, picture still in hand, resumed her placement inside his chest. His arms were like a harbor; a port where she could dock her restless ship in the storm. Her lighthouse in the dark. The glimmer at the end of the tunnel.

"It's a funny thing about February…" he theorized, hushed, over her head, rubbing her shoulders all the while. "I know it brings you a lot of grief, but I see it entirely differently."

"You do?"

Every little bit helped.

"I do. Through all your hardships and adversity; everything you have had to struggle through…" with a sigh came the idea he admired all this. "You're still you. You still come out the other side. It is that fighting spirit I love most about you, Mary."

He was lulling her to sleep with his rhythm, "I'll have to make a list of what I love most about you…" she drawled.

"…And I know James and Jinx are weighing pretty heavy this month…" he completely ignored her, or else hadn't heard, too intent on finishing and easing her bones. "But, I know they did something _very_ coveted in February for which I will be forever in their debt."

"Mmm…" the woman hummed. "What's that?"

Of paper hearts and frilly lace. Of silly little girls, dance recitals, baseball games, and a moppet with tiny round glasses. To being abandoned, to life and death; to new beginnings and old friends returning home. To a birthday on the ninth of the month with the fewest days.

Mary exhaled slowly, waiting for her boy's confession.

"I will owe them for a lifetime of Februarys…"

Her boy she loved to the moon and back.

"To repay the February they gave me you."

XXX

**A/N: And that's the end! I admit I am going to miss Norah, Robyn, Max, and Alice; about as much as I miss Sam, Jesse, and the Mann nieces and nephews. I love creating new children for Mary and Marshall to fall in love with, and it is always hard to let them go.**

**Thank-you in spades to each of my reviewers: Reader1701, obsessedwithstabler, JMS529, JJ2008, usafcmycloud, redbrainbluebrain, Jayne Leigh, carajiggirl, Grey Fool, Caia, Meg, jekkah, and several guests! I almost don't care if I ever have a new reviewer again, because you all are so loyal and keep coming back for more; I could not ask for better than that. You stick by me, and I can't tell you how many smiles you bring to my face with your sweet comments. I don't know what's coming next, but I hope to see you all again in the future! Lots of love to all of you – I hope you'll tell me how you enjoyed the ending!**


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